


What Is Wrong With Me

by CatBountry



Category: Nirvana (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Supernatural Elements, Gen, Multi, Things get kind of a lot of fucked up as it goes along so strap yourselves in buckaroos, This might get kind of weird, general sensitive content warning, surprise characters you might not be expecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2020-12-07 11:23:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20975096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBountry/pseuds/CatBountry
Summary: April 5th, 1994. There are two paths that lie ahead. One leads to oblivion, the end of the story. The other leads into the unknown. A shift has occurred, and the unknown path explored. Everything is different now, but as the cosmic scales tilt one way, the universe works to restore balance.... So what happens if Kurt chooses to live?





	1. Parallax Scrolling

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god how did this get here, I am not good with computer, plz no bully
> 
> More tags will be added as this story progresses, that is, if anybody wants more. I feel pretty self-conscious about this, but at the same time, I feel like it's something I need to get out of my system.
> 
> So while I'm aware that this work is based on real people, it's fictionalized versions of them and in no way represents them as they actually are. Liberties have been taken, obviously.

_ “I instantly realized that everything in my life that I’d thought was unfixable was totally fixable—except for having just jumped.” ~ Ken Baldwin _

**April 5** **th** **, 1994**

There was a certain irony in Kurt listening to R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts,” sitting on the floor, pumped full of enough heroin to kill a horse and aiming a 20-gauge shotgun under his chin. Mike had written this song about the rate of teen suicides on the rise, and here Kurt was, trying to determine the best angle to blow his head off. His brain was fuzzy, his thoughts were as sluggish as his movements. He was tired, oh so tired; of the fame he thought he wanted, the pain in his back, the pain in his stomach, the cycle of going through addiction and rehab and addiction again, the paparazzi, his crumbling marriage, the disappointment he’d brought upon just about everybody who knew him because he just couldn’t stop fucking it up again and again and again… it was too much. An image came to mind of a submarine, deep in the depths of the ocean, sinking deeper and deeper until the pressure crushes its steel hull crumpled like a crushed Coke can. Kurt had dove too deep, too fast. Every milestone caused a dent in the sub, a creak or groan of agonized metal, a sprung leak, a bolt popping. The tension of waiting for the inevitable implosion had come to an end, and it would end with an explosion of his brains on the wall.

Kurt decided that the temple was the best bet. Holding the shotgun was odd at this angle, and he still had his Chuck Taylors on his feet. It wasn’t necessary to pull the trigger, really; it just needed a squeeze. While holding the barrel in his left hand, his right moved down the body of the weapon, towards the trigger. There wouldn’t be much of his head left. He hoped he could blast away the face he always saw as ugly, to completely shatter it into a million tiny, bloody pieces, so he’d never have to look at his loathsome, junkie face looking back at him again.

And yet, there was a moment of hesitation.

Something shifted. Kurt wasn’t sure what, but he felt it. It wasn’t like a tectonic shift, or anything physical, but something that felt almost cosmic. Maybe it was the heroin turning his brain to mush. Maybe it was something else. Shit, maybe it was Boddah. But with that shift came a sudden awareness, a small voice somewhere in the back of his mind, pleading.

_You don’t have to do this. _

Slowly, Kurt moved the muzzle of the gun away from his head. He rested it against his right ear. In his stupor, he struggled to find a rebuttal to the little voice inside. “Shut up,” he mumbled instead. “I made my choice.”

_Please, _ it said, more urgently now. It had to have been inside his head, and yet, it also felt like it couldn’t be inside his head. He lazily slurped up a string of drool that was threatening to drip onto his shirt. His brain was too clouded for him to hear any voices. Was this some kind of divine intervention? No, that was stupid. The very notion of putting the gun down and devoting himself to Jesus made blowing his brains out all the more tempting. That wasn’t happening.

_Think about her. _

With great effort, Kurt lifted his head, slowly, peeking through his scraggly hair. Courtney? No, not Courtney. He loved Courtney, but it was the kind of love that made him feel like they were eating each other alive, the passion all claws and teeth and blood. But leaving would lead to a divorce, no doubt a messy divorce, a divorce that would only traumatize… Frances.

His vision went blurry with tears, and he let out a pitiful whimper. He was a shitty dad. What kind of dad leaves their daughter’s first birthday party to shoot up? The kind that didn’t deserve to be a dad. The kind that was worse than his dad.

_She needs you._

“Not me,” he muttered. “I’m a loser. A downer. I don’t enjoy anything anymore. It’s over.”

_Yes, you can._

He sniffled. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do it...”

_Do it for her._

Kurt slumped over further. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. Hot tears spilled down his gaunt cheeks, and his throat clenched as it tried to stop the sobs from escaping. Just one reason. Just one, enough to turn back. He could stop right now. His whole body started to shake and he broke out in a cold sweat. Maybe things could be fixed after all. Maybe, if he got help, real help, things could finally be okay. He felt a twinge in his fingers, and then--

A bang.

Kurt fell onto his back. Michael Stipe’s melancholy vocals were now replaced by a tinny ring in both his ears. Was he dead? He felt as though he couldn’t move. The shotgun against his chest rolled off onto the floor as Kurt’s chest rose, his lungs desperate for air.

He was… alive? The ceiling above him was spinning, his mouth felt dry, and he was on the verge of puking. Instinctively, he turned his head to the side, and croaked out a soupy spew of vomit. As the last of it passed through his lips, he felt as though he was swallowed up by a giant hole, and lost consciousness.

~

When Kurt opened his eyes again, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but it was long enough that the record was still spinning as the needle tried to keep its place, scratching the edge. He was still in the greenhouse. He tried to lift his head, but he felt something warm and sticky on the right side of his face. He managed to jerk his head up, and touched the side of his face that had been on the floor, and examined his fingertips.

There was blood. A lot of it. While most of it appeared congealed, it was still flowing. His eyes widened. He sat up, and as he felt up the side of his face further, his fingertips brushed the hair now plastered along his jaw, and up to his ear. It was wet. When he looked at his fingers again it was redder, brighter. He felt his head go light, and with a great effort, he pushed himself onto his unsteady feet. Help. He needed help. 911. Ambulance.

He moved like a drunken sailor in an old cartoon, heaving his body against the wall to balance himself enough to go out the door, down the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. As he stumbled towards the cordless phone, sitting in its cradle, he reached out with his clean hand to pick it up. As he was about to dial, he stopped, and noticed his blood-smeared fingers.

A thought floated through his head of how the press might find out about this 911 call, play it on the news, expose him at the absolute lowest he could go and have yet even more tabloid fodder about the junkie loser who tried (and failed) to blow his own head off in the middle of his goddamn mansion. Maybe call Courtney? No, she was out of town. Mom? It’d be too much for her, she’d go hysterical with worry. The third choice was the guy that, last time he saw him, he punched him and ran away like a bitch to avoid yet another agonizing stay in rehab… Krist.

They used to be so close, a long time ago. Kurt looked up to him, both figuratively and quite literally, but lately he’d been doing as much as he could to push him and everybody else he worked with away, perhaps to make them feel less sorry for Kurt after he died. But as much as he pushed Krist away, as much of an asshole as he’d been over splitting profits over the record deals and talked shit about how he was Kurt Fucking Cobain, genius and voice of the disenfranchised youth, and didn’t need Nirvana… Krist still stuck around. So did Dave, to his credit, but Dave felt more like a wide-eyed puppy dog who looked up to Kurt. Krist, he knew longer. Krist knew him better. Krist would forgive him… right?

He dialed Krist’s number, smearing blood on the buttons, aware that he couldn’t hear the beeps from the phone. His ears were still ringing, like someone hit a wind chime with a tuning fork right in his eardrum. He could barely make out the sound of the phone ringing. He ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth to try and lessen the dryness, and winced. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he wasn’t able to hear Krist on the other side?

A low, mumbling noise came through the speaker. It was a voice, but it was hard to hear over the ringing, coming through with all the clarity of a grown-up in a Peanuts cartoon. “Krist,” said Kurt, as he leaned onto the kitchen counter. “Krist, it’s Kurt. I need your help. I… I hurt myself, pretty bad. My head's bleeding and I can’t hear anything!” He had raised his voice by this point, just trying to hear himself over the ringing. “I think… oh God, I think I might be deaf. I went and made myself deaf...” He barely got out the last word before he broke down again, this time into ugly blubbering. The implication only just now hit him, and he reconsidered getting that shotgun and finishing what he started.

The noises on the other end of the phone were hard to make out, but Krist sounded as though he was talking slowly and deliberately. Kurt could only barely pick out a few words. “Stay… there, I’ll… pick… up. Don’t… find a… stop… bleed, and just… okay?”

“Please… please hurry,” said Kurt. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for… for everything, okay? Hurry. Hurry, please...”

There was some more words on Krist’s end, and though it was hard to hear what he said, his tone was that of someone who was clearly panicked but trying to remain and keep everyone else calm and reassured. “On… way. See you… okay?”

“Okay,” said Kurt. He might have heard the sound of the phone hanging up, but he wasn’t sure until the dial tone kicked in. Kurt hung up, and placed the bloody phone back in its cradle. He couldn’t remember where a First Aid kit might be (or if they even had one in the house stocked), so instead Kurt improvised by unfurling half of the paper towels still left, taking the wad in his hand, opening the fridge, pulling out the ice cube tray, and dumping the whole lot onto the towels before folding them over the ice and putting the whole thing against his ear. He didn’t know if this would actually do anything to help, but at this point, he felt as though he were acting on some crude, childlike instinct. As he held the ice and paper towels against his head, he slid against the cabinets and onto the kitchen floor, knees up against his chest, and just sitting. And waiting.

As he waited, the ice started to melt through the paper towels and run down the side of his face. He started banging the back of his head against the cabinet door. He could barely feel it. His eyes went half-lidded, and he took in each breath slowly. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there on the kitchen floor, just breathing and sitting there while he waited. He wondered if he’d be able to hear the doorbell or any knocking at the front door, but yet, he stayed, almost motionless. His head felt heavier and heavier, and his eyelids drooped, as he nodded off.

It had only felt like he’d been asleep for a few seconds before he awoke with a snort. He could hear a low, loud thumping noise, and something that sounded like distant hollering from a mile away. He stood to his feet, and lumbered towards the front door, before he finally unlocked it, swung it open, and was greeted with a panicked, sweaty, pale Krist. He saw Krist mouth the words “holy shit,” and stepped aside as Krist made his way in. Krist wrapped an arm around Kurt’s shoulder, and ushered him back to the kitchen as he closed the door behind him.

Krist gently pushed Kurt down in a chair by the kitchen table, and he bent down so that he was eye-level with Kurt. Kurt’s eyes darted away in shame.

“Hey,” said Krist, raising his voice, speaking slowly, “can you hear me?” His voice was muffled, but Kurt could hear him, so he nodded.

“Okay,” said Krist. “Let me see where you’re hurt.”

Kurt pulled the wad of melting ice and soggy paper towels away from his ear. Krist leaned closer to Kurt’s ear, and brushed his wet hair out of the way. With Krist so close, Kurt could hear him hiss through his teeth. “What… what the hell did you _ do? _”

“I… had an accident,” Kurt said.

“What the fuck kind of accident caused _ this? _”

Kurt went silent. He resisted the urge to start biting his thumbnail, and instead just gripped the seat of the chair.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” said Krist. “Just stay right there, okay? Try not to fuck yourself up anymore than you have already.” He left the room, heading towards the bathroom. Kurt took this time to gingerly trace his finger along his ear, starting at the lobe and tracing it up to the helix, where he stopped. There was a divot halfway up his ear cartilage. He kept going, and his finger dipped. There was a chunk of his ear that was just gone, like someone had just taken a bite out of the shell of his ear, and he hadn’t even felt it.

“Shit,” he muttered. How the fuck was he going to explain this? And what if he went to the greenhouse, found the gun, the puddle of blood and vomit, the suicide note stuffed in the flower pot? If he wasn’t going to rehab, surely he was going to be put up in the mental ward. People who are well don’t try and splatter their brains on the ceiling in their mansions. He heard Krist yelling something from another room. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Kurt shouted back.

Krist came back in the kitchen dangling his car keys. “Let’s go,” he said. “We’re going to the E.R.”

“Can’t you patch this up?” asked Kurt. “Put on some bandages…?”

“No,” said Krist, shaking his head. “I think we gotta go.” He grabbed hold of Kurt’s elbow, and Kurt stared at Krist’s hand with a look of unease.

“It’ll be okay,” said Krist. “If you messed up your hearing, you need to see a doctor A-S-A-P, or you’re gonna be a rock ‘n’ roll Beethoven.” Kurt stared at him blankly. “Y’know… like you’re gonna be writing songs you can’t hear?”

“Yeah--”

“‘Cause you’d be deaf?”

“Yeah, I get it, thanks,” Kurt said. He got up out of the chair, and followed Krist to the car.

The sky was pregnant with low, dark clouds that hung like soaked, dirty cotton in the air, blocking out the sun and threatening rain. The wind snaked through the trees, rattling through the branches, though the sound of rustling leaves was drowned out by Kurt’s tinnitus. Krist opened up the passenger side door for Kurt, before rounding the front of the car and getting into the driver’s seat. Kurt had a fleeting thought of Krist’s old car, a car that he barely fit into, hunched over the steering wheel when the seat wouldn’t go far back enough for his legs to fully stretch, and riding to work alongside him as a janitor. A part of him longed for those days, just playing shows at people’s houses, recording demos on tape cassette, dreaming of being a rock star without having any idea about the pitfalls of life in the spotlight. Krist started the car, and immediately turned the radio off, cutting off what sounded like some Green Day song; Kurt couldn’t really tell which. The car backed up, and rolled out of the driveway and onto the road.

The two of them stayed quiet for a while. Kurt’s hands were still smeared with dried blood, and they lay in his lap, palms upturned, fingers slightly curled, making his hands look like a pair of oversized dead leaves. He looked over to Krist, who was tapping the steering wheel with his fingers nervously. Kurt turned his gaze over to the window, leaning his head against the glass, watching the scenery roll by. There was a word for why the trees and telephones zipped past while the clouds drifted slowly by, wasn’t there? What was it? He might have heard a friend of a friend talking about it while playing some game on the Sega Genesis, while also bragging about something called “blast processing.” Something scrolling. Why was he thinking about this now? Was it to avoid talking about how this mess got started? Probably. He kept thinking about the greenhouse. How much had Krist found out while Kurt was in the kitchen? Was he even going to bring it up?

“You need to tell the doctors what happened,” Krist finally spoke up. He glanced over at Kurt for a split second. “You don’t have to tell me now. I know you don’t want to. But you gotta come clean with the doctors. Alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Kurt mumbled.

“Please,” said Krist, with emphasis.

Kurt nodded. “I will.”

“Good,” said Krist with a sigh. “Thank you. I know you hate this, I mean, _ I _hate going through this, but I worry about you, you know? Christ, I realize I sound like I’m your fucking mom here, but…” his voice hitched, and he let that last “but” hang in the air. (_Heh, butt, _ Kurt thought to himself, hearing it in Butthead’s voice. A quick smile flashed over his face, and vanished just as quickly.) Kurt turned to look at Krist. Krist’s fingers were twitching on the steering wheel, and his eyes looked glassy. He looked so ragged, like an old stuffed animal thrown in the dryer one too many times and the stitching coming undone.

“I love you too, babe,” said Kurt flatly.

Krist barked out a laugh, shoulders shaking, barely managing to keep his eyes on the road. “You son of a bitch,” he said as he broke out into his familiar goofy grin. “Fuck you.”

“If you insist,” said Kurt.

“Can it, you saucy little whore,” Krist snapped back, putting on an old gangster movie accent as he was trying to hold back laughter. “You drunken floozy, you… you _ tart. _” That last word got a snicker out of Kurt.

“Where did that come from?” Kurt asked.

“There’s supposed to be this channel for old movies debuting in like two weeks,” said Krist. “I keep seeing spots for it while I’m watching TV. I think it’s one of Ted Turner’s channels.”

“He’s not gonna colorize all the movies, is he?” asked Kurt, bumping the back of his head against the car seat headrest.

“No, actually, apparently they’re gonna be run without commercials,” said Krist. “So that’s good. I don’t need to see that same goddamn Life Alert commercial while I’m trying to watch old, politically incorrect movies. Really takes you out of the experience.”

“You mean to tell me that you’re sick of hearing ‘help! I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up?’”

Krist let out a comical groan, and Kurt laughed. “Speaking of grievous bodily harm,” Krist said, “has your ear finally stopped bleeding?”

“Yeah, it’s clotted up,” said Kurt.

“Ears still ringing?”

“Yeah… yeah, they still are.”

The Swedish Cherry Hill Campus hospital was now within view. Krist took a deep breath, and exhaled through his mouth. “Here we go,” he said, though Kurt could barely hear it.

“Krist?”

“Yeah?” Krist pulled up and turned onto the campus drive, heading for the E.R.

“I’m… I’m sorry, about all this,” said Kurt. “For every--”

“Dude, you already apologized plenty over the phone,” said Krist. “You’ve got problems, but you’re not the only one with… _ problems, _ like that. I might not be able to understand everything you’re going through, but I do understand more than you know, you know?” The E.R. was now within view, and Krist slowed the car to a roll as he looked over to Kurt, giving him a comforting smile. “I forgive you, alright?”

Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. “Even after punching you in the face?”

“Eh, you didn’t do a whole lot of damage, with those little noodle arms you got,” said Krist, as he pulled into a visitor’s parking spot. “But, yeah. Even after you punched me in the face, you fucking asshole.” He couldn’t keep a straight face at the end of that last sentence.

“Thanks, then,” said Kurt. “For everything.” He paused. “You... cock-sucking son of a bitch.”

“Oh, you fucking _ wish, _” laughed Krist, giving Kurt’s shoulder a playful shove before he put the car in park and cut off the ignition. “Now, c’mon, Beethoven,” he said as he unbuckled his seatbelt, “we’re gonna get you to a doctor. Maybe with all that blood all over you, they might see us quicker.”

The both of them got out of the car, and walked toward the doors of the Emergency Room. There was a wild-haired old lady with a cane and a prosthetic leg walking past, and she looked at Kurt, goggle-eyed behind her thick, square glasses. “Sweet Jesus, boy,” she exclaimed as Kurt approached. “What in the hell happened to you?”

“Snapping turtle bit my ear off,” Kurt answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Snapping turtle?” the old lady echoed incredulously. “Up here?”

“He came a long way,” said Krist. “Rode on a bus all the way to Florida to get revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” she asked.

“For leaving him behind in ‘Nam,” said Krist dramatically.

She shook her head. “You kids are kooky,” she said. “Koo-koo in the coconut.” She shuffled off, swinging her prosthetic leg forward like a tin soldier.

Kurt and Krist giggled. It was strange; not just the old lady, but this entire situation was strange. A few hours ago, Kurt was committed to killing himself, so sure that there was nothing good for him left in this world, and now here he was, with one of his oldest friends, laughing at the words of a weird old lady. Krist was back to being his regular, goofball self instead of a shaken mess. Kurt felt… not quite happy, really. Relieved? He’d stared down the barrel of a shotgun earlier and now he was alive. He was _ hopeful. _ For the first time in a long time, he felt optimistic. Perhaps the shock to his system was enough to pull him, rather violently, from his depressive state. Perhaps all his problems could be fixed. Perhaps this was the event that he needed to be able to gain some perspective.

Kurt and Krist walked through the sliding glass doors of the Emergency Room, and Kurt took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and letting it blow out of his nose.

“_Do it for her,” _he muttered under his breath, and the doors slid shut behind them.


	2. Robin's Egg

Krist had been right about being seen more quickly by being covered in blood. As soon as Kurt approached the receptionist, she did a double-take, and they got him a bed and started testing his vitals. When asked if he was on any medications, Kurt answered “I took a shit-ton of valium and heroin earlier.”

“Do you know how much?” the nurse asked as she measured his blood pressure.

“Enough that I’m surprised I’m still alive,” Kurt answered.

Krist was in the waiting room. He’d wanted to give Kurt some privacy, which was considerate of him. He was always considerate. Shortly before the intervention, Krist had offered to take him out to dinner, and Kurt had used to opportunity to score more smack. His dealer had been waiting there for him. Kurt had dropped all pretext of being sneaky and bought it while Krist was watching, and then lied afterward. That had only been, what, a couple weeks ago? He’d gone out of his way to isolate himself.

“Hello?”

“Huh?” Kurt snapped out of his introspection, and looked at the nurse.

“How did you damage your ear?” the nurse asked again, louder this time. Her voice was coarse, but not in an off-putting way.

“Oh,” said Kurt. “Shotgun went off next to it.”

The nurse raised her hoary eyebrows. “And how did that happen?” she asked. She squeezed the bulb on the blood pressure cuff until it was at its tightest around Kurt’s arm.

“I was going to kill myself but I changed my mind at the last minute,” said Kurt. He tried to sound as blasé as possible about it, but his voice wavered.

“Guess you got lucky,” said the Nurse.

“I guess,” said Kurt.

“You got a second chance,” she said.

“Third chance,” Kurt muttered, remembering swallowing all those pills in Rome earlier that year. Technically, fourth, he thought, if he was counting that time he sat on train tracks by his house when he was 15.

“Third?” the nurse echoed. She shook her head. “Well, I guess the third time’s the charm, ain’t it?” She released the pressure on the cuff, and jotted down his blood pressure.

Kurt tried to laugh, but just let out a dry wheeze. The nurse cast him a look for a moment, before standing back up. “I’ll be right back for your ear,” she said. “Just sit tight, honey.”

When she came back, she cleaned his wound, swabbing his entire ear in iodine. Her hands felt rough, but her touch was delicate; these were hands that had done this work for decades. Kurt’s little sister had talked about getting into nursing as a career, and he tried to picture her working alongside the gruff, middle-aged nurse that was attending to him. And now he was thinking about what a shit big brother he’d been.

It really did seem like he’d done a shit job of just about everything in his life at this point.

When the doctor finally came in, he introduced himself to Kurt as Dr. Bernstein, shaking his hand briefly before examining Kurt’s ear, both externally and internally with an otoscope. “How’s your hearing?” he asked.

“Better than earlier,” said Kurt. “Everything’s less muffled, but my ears are still ringing.”

“I’ll bet,” said the doctor. “Well, hearing loss is progressive; the more exposure to high decibel noises, the worse your hearing will get. Do you work in a job where you’re exposed to a lot of prolonged, loud noises?”

Kurt smirked. “Yeah, I guess you could say I do.”

“We’ll have to get you referred to an ENT, then,” said Dr. Bernstein. “Doris, would you kindly get a sample from Kurt here so we can get some blood work done? I’ll be right back to start the procedure.”

The nurse nodded. When taking Kurt’s blood, she noticed the puncture wounds in the crook of his elbow, and sighed as she swabbed it. As she drew out the blood with a needle, Kurt noticed a mop of brown hair peeking from around the curtain separating the beds. He turned his head to look, and saw Krist sheepishly peering over him.

“Hey,” he said in a subdued voice.

“Hey,” Kurt said back.

Krist stepped out from behind the curtain. “So, uh, I called your mom.”

Kurt groaned. “What’d she say?”

“She’s on her way here,” said Krist. “I tried to get a hold of Courtney, but I couldn’t get through to her.”

“Great,” Kurt mumbled. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could deal with Courtney right now. Perhaps if she were given time to cool off, maybe, but he dreaded it all the same.

_Why can’t I just go home with Krist?_

Kurt wasn’t sure where that thought sprang from, but it clung to his brain as Krist sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed. Even seated, Krist was too big for his surroundings, and he stretched his long legs out in front of him, rather than have his knees raised awkwardly if his feet rested flat on the floor. His was the kind of presence Kurt needed right now; that goofy, optimistic demeanor that had a quip for just about every situation, that grounded force to keep Kurt level. There weren’t a whole lot of people in his life that could provide that, to be the ear on the other end of the telephone to listen when he’d gotten into a fight with Courtney, or he saw more bullshit printed in the tabloids. To be his rock to grab hold of in the sea of fuckery that was everyday existence.

“Did you call anybody else?” Kurt asked.

“No,” said Krist. “Why, should I?”

“Nah,” said Kurt. “Just checking.” He paused for a moment, and added, “Maybe give Dave a call later.”

“Sure,” said Krist. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”

“I don’t know, just… just let him know what’s happening. I don’t know if I can see him yet.”

“Why’s that?”

Kurt had a mental image of Dave coming in and freaking out, peppering Kurt with a million questions about what happened, was he okay, why did it happen, what was going to happen now, what was going to happen to the band, begging Kurt to just talk to people, goddammit, that he could talk to Dave, he just wanted to help… Kurt groaned at the thought.

“I don’t wanna upset him,” sighed Kurt.

“I think that’s probably gonna happen anyway, after what happened,” said Krist earnestly. He leaned over in his chair, and clasped his hands together as they hung between his outstretched legs. “But I think he’ll be more relieved you’re okay than anything else.”

“I don’t really think I’m okay,” Kurt muttered darkly. “I think I’m fucked up.”

Krist didn’t reply right away, his eyes turning to the floor. He ruminated on Kurt’s statement, rubbing his hands together idly. “I mean… yeah, I guess so, but we’re all fucked up,” said Krist. “Everybody’s fucked up in some way or another. You just gotta find a way to keep going on through it, gotta try the best you can to… to deal with it.” There was a hitch in Krist’s voice. He attempted to clear his throat, and reached over to Kurt, patting Kurt’s hand and nearly enveloping it with his own. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Kurt’s fingers curled inwards, and he took hold of Krist’s hand. He’d been fairly vocal of being starved of male physical affection, feeling boxed in by societal standards of masculinity. That was hardly a secret. What was more secret were the lingering feelings that Kurt knew were mutual, that the both of them tried to push away. Shortly after they’d first met, they’d drank and gotten high and kissed and experimented with one another, all touching and exploring one another’s bodies in a way that Kurt hadn’t felt comfortable enough to do before, and after they’d jerked each other off they both went out and spray-painted “GOD IS GAY” on the side of a church. But for whatever reason, despite the open displays of affection, the public open-mouthed kissing that included that time on the set of Saturday Night Live in front of the whole cast and crew and audience and millions of live viewers; despite all of this, they both felt the need to settle down with women, and Kurt wanted a happy nuclear family more than anything. There was still that hesitation. Yes, he loved Courtney, probably more than was healthy for him, but a part of him wished he could have them both and live in some kind of bisexual, three-way relationship where they were all equally in love and intimate and maybe shut off the rest of the world forever so they could all raise Frances together. Kurt felt embarrassed even entertaining this thought. It was impractical, and selfish, and extremely unrealistic. But it was still there, and as they both looked up at each other, Kurt gave Krist’s hand a tender squeeze. Krist let out a contented hum, and squeezed back.

When Dr. Bernstein and the nurse came back in, they briefly noticed the two young men holding hands, but aside from raised eyebrows from the nurse, they didn’t react. Kurt just gripped Krist’s hand harder. Dr. Bernstein cleared his throat.

“Alright, Kurt,” he said, “We’re going to try and fix your ear as best we can. If you can ask your partner to--”

“He’s, uh, he’s not actually my partner,” Kurt admitted. He loosened his grip on Krist’s hand until it was in a complete resting position. “We’re actually both married--”

“But darling!” Krist exclaimed with all the melodrama of a daytime soap actress, “Why must you be ashamed of our love? Have we not been through so much together?” He plashed his hand across his forehead. “O, to experience such betrayal from my sweet babboo!”

“I’m sure Shelli would love to hear that,” said Kurt, cracking a sardonic smile.

“Anyway,” Dr. Bernstein spoke up again, “if you can ask your friend to move aside so we can perform the procedure, we can get started.”

“Does he have to leave?” Kurt asked.

“No,” said the doctor, “but he does need to be out of the way.”

Krist grabbed a hold of the seat underneath him, and without his butt leaving the cushion, rocked onto his feet and scooted back a few feet before placing the chair back down.

And he stayed for the duration of the procedure; the injection of the local anesthetic, the cleaning of the chunk of ear, and the stitching of the cartilage to close the opened flesh. When the doctor had finished, he had the nurse fetch a hand mirror and give it to Kurt, who only now was really able to examine the damage done. Before this, he’d only had the side mirrors on Krist’s car and his reflection in the car window to get a look at it. The end result looked slightly less gnarly than before, smoothing out the tattered edge of the wound with thick, black stitches.

“There,” said Dr. Bernstein, standing back as he admired his work, “that’s about all I can do for you here. We have an excellent plastic surgeon who does fine restoration work.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Kurt. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. There was a part of him that was excited at the disfigurement his botched suicide attempt had caused, sick as it was to consider. The rest of him just felt woozy, as black and white spots started to dot his vision.

Kurt could feel himself being lifted from the bed and placed into a wheelchair. He could still hear Dr. Bernstein talking, but it flattened into an indistinguishable mush of throat noises. Kurt’s head lolled back, and he watched the bright rectangles of fluorescent lights fly over his head. He closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment, only to open them in a completely different room.

He found himself in a hospital bed, in a proper room, and a tiny television loomed over him from the furthest corner of the room. The image on TV was the opening of _Mork and Mindy_, and Kurt watched transfixed as a red-uniformed Robin Williams punched his way out of the giant white egg that served as his spacecraft. Kurt couldn’t explain why, but he suddenly felt an inexplicable sadness. Maybe it was the drugs he’d been given, or the ones he took before he wound up here. Maybe it was remembering being a little kid and feeling like he was a space alien too, stuck on a planet he couldn’t fully understand, and hearing an audience laugh at this weirdo wearing rainbow suspenders. He heard a nasally grunt from next to him, and turned his head to the side to see Krist again, exhausted, slumped over in his chair with his head hanging downward as he napped. Kurt smiled a weak and weary smile, and felt a stray tear run down his cheek. He sniffled, and raised his hand to wipe it away. There was still an IV drip in his arm. And what time was it anyway? The sky outside the half-lidded blinds looked pink and orange. How long had he been out?

There was then the sound of high heels click-clacking on the linoleum floor, briskly approaching Kurt’s room. He turned his head, and he locked eyes with his mother, primly dressed with hair and make-up done, holding up her purse in the crook of her arm as she looked at her son, frozen on the spot.

“Hi, mom.”

“Ohhh, my baby, my sweet baby!” she said, moving in with arms outstretched. She embraced Kurt, hugging him into her chest, kissing the top of his head, cooing over him like a hen. “I told you about that awful 27 club, honey, oh thank God, thank God you’re still here, ohhhh.” She pulled back from him, holding his face in her hands, and turned his head to look at his ear. “Oh, God, look what you did to yourself, just look at it.”

“I can’t see the side of my head, Mom,” Kurt said.

Krist raised his head, and gave a friendly little half-wave by curling his fingers. “Hi, Mrs. Cobain.”

“Hello, Krist,” Kurt’s mom said politely. “Thank you so much for bringing him here, I’m just so relieved that he’s safe.”

“No problem, Mrs. Cobain,” Krist said, with the stilted formality of a child speaking to a grown-up.

Kurt’s mother turned her attention back to her son, stroking his hair and getting bleary-eyed. “Oh, honey, you have no idea how much I dread every call I get. I keep thinking that the next one is going to be _that_ call, that horrible, horrible call that’ll tell me you’re… oh, God.” She let her head fall onto Kurt’s shoulder, and wept into his neck. Kurt brought up his arms against her back, and gave her a few awkward pats.

“No mother should ever have to bury their child,” she said as Kurt held her. “I almost lost you. Please… please don’t ever do this to me again. I can’t take it.”

“I won’t, Mom,” Kurt croaked. Now he was starting to cry again. “I won’t.”

“Promise me you won’t.”

Kurt hesitated. A sense of overwhelming guilt squeezed at his chest, and his throat clenched. “I promise,” he said.

It was then that a new doctor arrived, a smiley woman with those giant square glasses that was worn by just about every mom and grandma in the United States since the 80’s. “Mr. Cobain?” she called out.

“Yeah?” Kurt responded, as his mother stood up straight and smoothed her blouse.

“I’m Dr. Vivian Chen,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed,” said Kurt.

“I imagine so,” she replied. She turned to Kurt’s mother. “And are you Mrs. Cobain?”

“Please, call me Wendy,” she said as they shook hands. “I’m his mother,” she clarified, as though there was some mix-up as to who she was.

“Of course,” said Dr. Chen. She looked to Krist. “And you are…?”

“I’m Krist,” he said. “I’m his friend, I brought him in.”

“Nice to meet you, Krist,” said Dr. Chen, extending a hand. Krist rose to his feet, and bowed to shake the doctor’s hand in return, further emphasizing just how small she was.

She looked at him agog for a moment, before laughing softly. “Wow,” she said, “you’re, uh, you’re a big guy, aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, six-foot-seven,” he said with a grin.

“I bet you play basketball,” said Dr. Chen.

“No, but I met Charles Barkley once, and I’m taller than he is,” said Krist, puffing out his chest.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “Sounds exciting!”

“Yep, we were playing a little show in New York and met him there. He’s a pretty okay guy.” Krist said all this a playful false modesty, looking all smarmy as he turned his gaze to Kurt. Kurt let out an amused snort.

“Oh, are you a musician?” Dr. Chen asked.

“We both are,” said Krist, indicating to Kurt. “It’s kind of an obscure band, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it, it’s called _Nirvana_.” He emphasized the band name, but Dr. Chen just looked puzzled for a moment.

“Oh,” she said in realization, “I think I’ve heard of you! I’m sorry, I’m not much of a rock n’ roll person, did you that song, what’s it called… ‘Even Flow?’”

“That’s Pearl Jam,” said Kurt. He felt a sense of relief that Dr. Chen appeared to have no clue who he was. Thank Christ, he thought.

“Ohhhh, okay, okay,” said Dr. Chen, nodding. “I listen mostly to stuff like jazz, R&B, blues… that sort of thing.”

“You ever listen to Leadbelly?” Kurt asked.

“Doctor,” Wendy interrupted, “I’m sure you came in to talk about my son’s condition, right?”

“Ah, well, yes,” said Dr. Chen. “Are you his next of kin?”

“I’m his mother,” Wendy said firmly.

“He has a wife,” Krist piped up. He looked to Wendy, who suddenly looked cross. “Did you, uh, manage to get in touch with Courtney?”

“I was only able to leave a message,” said Wendy. “She probably won’t be here until tomorrow at least. I do know she has the baby with her.”

“Mr. Cobain,” said Dr. Chen, sidling up closer to Kurt, “is it alright if we discuss your medical information with your mother?”

“Sure,” said Kurt. “Can Krist stay too?”

“I don’t think he should,” said Wendy. “This is family business, after all.”

“Alright,” Krist said with a shrug. “I’ll just be in the waiting room.” He walked around the bed and towards the door, but was stopped by Kurt reaching out and grabbing the hem of his shirt. He looked back down at Kurt, both of them looking helplessly at the other.

“Honey, stop that,” Wendy chided. “You’re a grown man, let him go. This is private.”

Kurt’s gaze shifted downwards as he let go of Krist’s shirt, and his arm hung limply off the side of the hospital bed. He watched as Krist left the room, and found himself staring at the door as Dr. Chen explained to his mother the nature of Kurt’s injuries, how lucky he was to be alive, and the mandatory 72-hour hold. Wendy nodded and listened, occasionally grasping at Kurt’s wrist to ask “Are you paying attention, honey?” only for Kurt to mumble and nod. At one point during the discussion, he brought his thumb up to his mouth so he could nibble on his thumbnail with his front teeth, but Wendy grabbed hold of Kurt’s hand and lowered it into his lap. There was even more talk of methadone treatment, and Kurt’s stomach balled up at the thought of even more rehab.

“Frances is with Courtney, right?” Kurt asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes, she is,” Wendy assured him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll bring her here so you can see her.”

Kurt relaxed a bit. He hadn’t seen Frances in, what, almost a week? More guilt came rolling in, but at the same time, he had something to look forward to in the coming days. During one of the previous interventions, Courtney had yelled at Kurt, telling him that he needed to be a daddy now. He thought of how Frances seemed so detached from him, how she had to be reminded that he _was_ her daddy, even though they shared the same bright, blue eyes and blonde hair. But he also thought of her cherubic smile, her hands clapping in delight, her wiggly dances to music. The little voice inside him chirped, _do it for her._

Kurt took a deep breath. This time, he had to get it right. This time he needed to fix at least one of the Giant Fucking Problems that were eating away at him every single goddamn day. He had to. For her.

And he would. For her.


	3. You Know You're Right

It had been almost 16 hours since his admittance into the hospital, and Kurt found himself craving just one cigarette.

He had a yellow legal pad propped up against his bent knees, as he tried to keep himself occupied by writing down potential song lyrics and drawing crude doodles with a black Sharpie, the cap of which was wedged in the corner of his mouth. His dreams had been a series of discomforting snapshot images of bombed office buildings, car crashes surrounded by flashing cameras, security footage of teenage boys with semi-automatic handguns, smoke rising from the Manhattan skyline, and orange balls of flame lighting up the night sky somewhere far away, and above them all, the looming visage of Buddy Holly, of all people… all images that Kurt was now trying to capture to the best of his memory.

Somehow, these images felt related to that feeling of a shift back in the greenhouse, contributing to the sense that things were now Different in a way that he couldn’t really explain. He’d chalked it up to being doped up and barely conscious, but there was a vague feeling of tension in the back of his mind, as though he was waiting for the universe to let the other shoe drop, that Death wouldn’t be satisfied. He suppressed a shudder, and repeated the same mantra that the voice in his head gave him. He wrote it down in thick, black ink; “DO IT FOR HER.”

His mother had left hours ago, though she’d stayed through the night at his bedside, and even coaxed him to sleep by singing Beatles songs softly as she stroked his hair. Krist eventually had to go back home and get some sleep, as he’d spent the rest of the day by the hospital payphone, making phone calls to friends, but before he left, he’d told Kurt he’d be back tomorrow, which was yesterday. When the morning news came on, Kurt saw that, among coverage of a massive genocide in Rwanda, there was a mention of his own admittance into the emergency room, though the news room had no details yet as to the nature of his ailment. It was just a quick blurb before they moved on to yet more coverage of Tanya Harding’s scandal, three months after all that bullshit started. Kurt grunted, and went back to his legal pad.

“E-excuse me, Mr. Cobain?”

Kurt looked up to see a nurse bashfully hovering around the door. She was a short, slight girl, probably new to the job, with big, dark brown eyes magnified by pink-framed glasses. Her dark, frizzy hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place with a scrunchie, and she smiled. “I, um, I’m not actually scheduled to work this wing, but my friend Brenda said that you were here, and, um, I’m sorry, this is probably a bad time, but I’m on my break and, uh, my sister and I, we’re really big fans and--”

“Are you asking me for an autograph?” Kurt asked, taking the pen cap out of his mouth.

“No! No, I mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I’m sorry I bothered, I can just go--”

“What’s your name?”

She seemed taken aback by this question, and blinked in confusion a few times before she regained composure. “Angela,” she said. “But everybody calls me Angie.”

“And your sister’s name?”

“Nicole,” she said.

“She your younger sister, or older?”

Angie visibly relaxed, and stepped into the room. “Younger,” she said. “She’s a junior in high school. I’m a big fan, but, like, she’s _ madly _ in love with you.”

Kurt smirked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… in freshman year, when all of her friends were crushing on the New Kids on the Block, she had pictures of _ you _ taped up in her locker. She’s smart, but she’s also really rebellious, like, she talks back to Mom and Dad and teachers a lot. She really looks up to you, though.”

Kurt chuckled, and flipped a sheet of paper on his notepad. “That’s, uh, pretty flattering,” he said, as he started to write. “But I’m not really a good role model.”

“I’m sorry,” Angie apologized again, “this must be so embarrassing for you...”

“Nah,” said Kurt. The past few weeks he’d been reluctant to give out autographs, hoping not to be recognized at all. But something about this girl’s wide smile, the way she’d blush and bite her lip… even though she couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than him, she lacked any of the cynicism Kurt had built up since his own years in high school. “How old are you?”

“Ohhh my gosh, I’m 22,” she said.

“Really, 22?” asked Kurt. “You look a lot younger than that. I would’ve thought you were in high school if you weren’t wearing scrubs.”

“Oh, geez,” she said, bowing her head. “I get that all the time, patients asking me why I’m not in school. My mom tells me it’s a good thing, looking young. My dad jokes that it’s from his side of the family, saying stuff like, ‘black don’t crack,’ just dumb stuff like that.”

Kurt let out an amused snort.

“This is going to sound weird,” said Angie, her tone less bubbly than before, “but I got called ‘mulatto’ by other kids growing up a lot. I felt like I didn’t fit in with the other kids in my neighborhood, ‘cause they were all white. My sister went through a lot of the same thing.”

Kurt looked up from the notepad, and met eyes with her. She hesitated a moment. “When… when I first heard ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on the radio, it had that word in there, but it wasn’t used in a mean way. It was like, I’d always been an outcast, but for the first time, I felt like I was in a group of outcasts who all loved that song, you know? I had just started going to college, and for the first time, I had _ friends_, you know, _ multiple _ friends, not just one or two, and we all loved this alternative music. I… I don’t know if I would have made those friends if it weren’t for your music. I’ve always been really shy and… and thanks to them, I saw Sonic Youth live, I saw Mudhoney live, and I never would have had the courage to do that on my own, and… and I still haven’t seen Nirvana live, and I really want to, when you get better.” Angie seemed to snap out of her train of thought, and blushed again. “Oh god, I’m sorry I’m just laying all of this out on you, I’m just making an ass of myself and--”

“It’s okay, Angie,” said Kurt. “I think I needed to hear that. Thank you.” He wrote a few more lines on his note, and then looked it over.

_ To Angie and Nicole, _

_ Maybe it’s just ‘cuz I’m feeling sappy, but thank you both for being fans. I hope to see you two when we play our next show here in Seattle, and you can meet Krist and Dave. We’ll make it happen. Maybe we’ll get some ice cream after the show. _

_ Nicole, stay in school and don’t do drugs, but take no shit. NEVER stop questioning authority, and don’t let anybody try and hold you back. And Angie, don’t be afraid to assert yourself. You’re a good big sister, you’re smart, and you can do more than you think you can. _

_ Take good care of each other. _

_ Much love, _

_ Kurt Cobain, professional rockstar _

Once the note was signed, her tore the sheet of paper off of the pad, and handed it to Angie. “Here,” he said. “For both of you.”

Angie’s face glowed like a lightbulb, and she hugged the note to her chest. “Oh god, oh gosh, thank you so much! I really hope we can get you feeling better soon! Just, um, don’t tell the other nurses I was here on my break. I, uh, I’m not supposed to be here...”

“It’s fine,” said Kurt. “I’m kinda glad you did.”

Angie barely suppressed a fangirlish squeal, hopping from foot to foot. “Ohhhhh, thank you, thank you, thank you! This means so much. I should probably get going, though, so… bye!”

“Bye,” Kurt said, waving as she scurried back down the hall. He turned back to his notepad again, and he was smiling, goddamn, actually smiling for once. He lost himself in doodling deranged-looking birds with bugged-out eyes screaming until there was a knock on his door.

Kurt looked up. It was the nurse from when he first came into the emergency room, Doris, wearing a new set of scrubs. “Hey,” she said. “You got some visitors that want to see you.” Doris stepped aside, and there, now in the middle of the doorway, wearing a fur coat bought from a thrift store and hastily applied make-up, was Courtney, and in her arms, with her chubby baby fingers stuck in her own mouth, was Frances Bean.

“Courtney,” Kurt said, letting the word out with all the air in his lungs.

Courtney cocked her head to the side, resting it upon Frances’ golden locks, and sighed. “Oh, Kurt,” she said.

Doris backed away, out of sight, as Courtney walked in, and sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed. Her peroxide-blonde hair was mussed in in such a way that Kurt could tell that she’d just slept on it funny, and hadn’t bothered to style it. Her eyes had purple bags underneath them and her cheeks were sallow, and she just looked at Kurt in exhaustion and disappointment. Kurt felt a twinge of pain in his gut.

“Kurt,” said Courtney, resting Frances on her knee, “what did you _ do? _”

Kurt didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect… this. Anger, maybe? Crying with relief? Screaming at him and calling him an idiot and an asshole? It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.

“I...” he started, but his throat clenched up. That good mood he’d been in? Gone, just as quickly as it came. How dumb could he be, to think that it would last? He couldn’t finish. Shit, he couldn’t even start.

“Your mom told me that you tried to kill yourself. Again,” said Courtney. “But you ended up blowing your ear off instead.” She reached up to the side of Kurt’s head, and brushed away his hair to expose what was left of his right ear. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “You’ve _ mutilated_ yourself.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “I wanted to do a lot worse. But I didn’t. This,” he pointed to his ear, “was an accident. After I changed my mind.”

Courtney looked Kurt up and down, and back up again. “Why’d you change your mind?”

Kurt took a deep breath. “I… I heard a little voice in my head. Like, my conscience or something, I don’t know, but...” he looked at the notepad on his lap, and flipped the pages back until he came to the one with his mantra on it; “DO IT FOR HER,” in bold letters, and he pointed at it.

Courtney stared at it for a moment, and looked to Kurt, mouth slightly agape. “Is that for me?” she asked, “or for Frances?”

Kurt didn’t say anything. As if on cue, Frances gurgled, and reached for the notepad with grabby hands. Kurt’s gaze turned towards her, and he smiled at her. She smiled back at her father, and giggled, clapping her hands on her thighs.

“Oh,” said Courtney. “I see.”

“Can I hold her?” asked Kurt. “Please?”

Courtney let out yet another resigned sigh, and handed the baby over to Kurt, who lowered his legs to sit Frances in his lap. “Hey, Bean,” he said, looking at her. “How’re you doin’?”

“Da!” said Frances. She held Kurt’s face between her little hands, and planted a sloppy toddler kiss, complete with a dramatic “MWAH!” sound on his puckered lips. She then swiveled around, grasping for the notepad. Kurt grabbed the notepad and the Sharpie, and was about to hand them to her when Courtney spoke up.

“Don’t give her a Sharpie, for Christ’s sake, Kurt,” said Courtney. “That’s permanent. I don’t need that all over her clothes and the sheets--”

“You got anything else?” Kurt asked.

“No,” said Courtney. “I don’t exactly carry Crayolas around with me all the time.”

Kurt put the cap on the Sharpie until it clicked into place. Frances took it from him, trying to remove the cap with her chubby little fingers. She grunted in frustration. “Well,” said Kurt, “maybe you should from now on.”

“Oh, _ now _ you want to be a daddy,” Courtney groaned. “Telling me how to do _ my _ job as a mother.”

“It was just a suggestion,” said Kurt, trying to keep his voice down. He looked down to Frances, who was now chewing on the pen with gusto. “Look, I don’t want to get into an argument in front of the baby.”

Courtney seethed, covering her mouth as she crossed her legs and kicked one foot over and over. It looked as though it was taking a Herculean amount of effort for her to keep her mouth shut; that much was obvious to Kurt. Now he had to navigate the minefield that was conversation with his wife without blowing himself up.

“Look,” said Kurt, “you’ve been right, about a lot. That I haven’t been a good dad. That I’m selfish. That I’m an asshole. And it’s true, ‘cause I don’t like myself, and that’s what lead to me winding up here in the first place.”

Courtney’s kicking slowed down considerably once Kurt had said “you’ve been right,” and had stopped completely once he’d finished his thought. She was now listening intently.

“I want to fix myself,” said Kurt. “I just don’t know how. I don’t know where to start. I have all these problems, and they all weigh down on me, and it got to the point where I just wanted to give up and die.”

Frances took the sharpie out of her mouth, and looked up at Kurt with wide eyes. She made an inquisitive noise, as though through it she was asking some kind of question she could not possibly articulate. Kurt ran his hand through her hair.

“But… when I thought of you, Bean, I didn’t want to leave you without any memories of me. I want to watch you grow up. I want to know you and the kind of person you’re going to be. But I’m so scared that you won’t like me very much, which is why I thought… I thought it’d be better if you just didn’t know me at all, so I couldn’t disappoint you.”

“And how would you blowing out your brains be anything but a disappointment?” asked Courtney.

Kurt turned to look at Courtney, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, well, I eventually figured that out,” he said. “I found a reason to keep going. For Frances. Even though I know it’ll be hard, and it’ll suck, and I’ll fuck up like I always do, I don’t want to give up. But I need help.”

“I tried to help,” said Courtney. “You wouldn’t _ let _ me help. You wouldn’t let Krist help, you wouldn’t let your mom help, you wouldn’t let _ anybody _ help. And it’s not like this is the first time you’ve almost died. What makes this any different?”

Kurt closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled. He fiddled with Frances’ hair between his fingers. It was so soft and delicate. Frances sat still, and let out a relaxed coo.

“The circumstances were different,” said Kurt. “It’s one thing to go to sleep and be in a coma for two weeks. It’s another to almost shoot yourself and wake up with one side of your head covered in your own blood.”

“So, now what?” asked Courtney. “What happens now? What do we do to make sure you don’t try anything like this again?”

“Well,” said Kurt cautiously, “I’ve been talking to one of the doctors here, about the psychiatric program. They, uh, they have an in-patient program, and… and I’ve seriously been considering it.” He let that information hang in the air, like a shrinking balloon, just hovering, until Courtney pulled out a pin to give it a pop.

“You seriously want to check in as a mental patient,” said Courtney.

“Like I said, I’ve been _ considering _ it.”

Courtney started kicking her leg again. “Do you realize how that’s going to _ look? _”

“I _ know _ how it’s gonna look, but I don’t care anymore, I just want to be better so I can be there for Frances. That’s my main focus. It’s all I care about anymore.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, Kurt thought. But he didn’t want to get into that mess right now.

“And what about me?” asked Courtney. “Do you care about _ me _?”

“Of course I do,” said Kurt. “I love you.”

“Well, saying that Frances is the only thing you care about anymore is a real funny way of showing it,” snapped Courtney.

“Courtney, I--”

“No. Just… shut up. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of your pity party bullshit.” Courtney stood up, and walked in front of the foot of Kurt’s bed. “I know the very first person you called when you needed help. It wasn’t me, your wife, it was Krist. You didn’t even try to get a hold of me. _ Krist _ didn’t even try. I had to hear it from your mother.”

“I didn’t know where you were,” said Kurt. “And you never have your beeper on you, either.”

“Yeah, blame me forgetting my fucking beeper,” scoffed Courtney. “Nobody knew where you went. We thought you’d gone missing.”

Kurt gave her an odd look. “I was at home. Where were you?”

“Rehab. Where you were _ supposed _ to be,” Courtney said. “In California. Had to take a red eye flight with the baby.”

“Was she alright?”

“She slept through most of it,” said Courtney. 

Frances grabbed at the notepad that was lying across the blanket, and jabbed at the paper with the capped pen with determination, hoping to make some kind of mark. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she held the pen up to Kurt, giving him a grunt, expecting him to remove the cap. “Frances, no,” said Courtney, plucking the pen from out of her hand. Frances’ eyes followed the pen, and she leaned over and groaned, reaching for the pen with an outstretched hand. Kurt picked her up and held her against her chest, preemptively soothing her by rubbing her back and bouncing her gently on his arm. Frances relaxed, and let out a tired gurgle.

There was a long moment of silence, and Kurt held a now quiet Frances, and Courtney looked past her husband and daughter, looking outside the window on the other side of the room. A pair of finches flew past, looping around each other, bumping against each other as they tweeted with a fury that could never be conveyed properly through high-pitched birdsong. Kurt turned his head to see what Courtney was looking at, and caught the two birds fluttering off. 

Courtney met Kurt’s eyes. She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a piece of paper. Kurt’s eyes widened with recognition. It was the suicide note.

“Did you read it?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, Kurt, I did,” she said. “If you wanted to just quit… why didn’t you just quit? Why did you… why are you like this?” her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “Jesus.”

“I wasn’t in a very good place mentally,” said Kurt. “I don’t know if I want to quit the band. A part of me wants to keep going, but the other part just wants to hide in a cabin in the middle of the woods and become a hermit, like J.D. Salinger, and just never put out music again.”

“I am _ not _ moving to a cabin in the middle of the woods,” said Courtney.

Kurt let out a snarky huff. “Of course you won’t,” he said. “You like being in the spotlight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Courtney. “You’re the last person I need to hear about that from. So many other people accuse me of being a fucking fame-whore, just looking out for me, because apparently I’m the bad one in this relationship as far as everybody else is concerned. Meanwhile you’re the poor, pitiful, tortured artist, the henpecked husband, the _ good one _ everybody likes. But I actually want to accomplish things and I’m just some starfucking _ bitch. _” Her face turned into a bitter scowl, and she crossed her arms. “It’s not fucking fair, you know?”

Kurt was stunned by the outburst for a moment. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” said Kurt. “I envy your ambition.”

Courtney stood up from her chair again, and started to pace back and forth in front of the foot of Kurt’s bed. Frances turned her head to observe her mother in wide-eyed curiosity.

“You’re not the only one that gets tired, Kurt,” said Courtney, grabbing hold of the bar at the foot of the bed. “Sometimes I think about just being as bad as people say I am. Just give them what they want and just be bitchy. It’s not like I could change their minds otherwise, you know?”

Kurt wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but continued to cradle Frances.

“I’m sure if you had died, it would’ve been all my fault,” she said, gripping the bar at the end tighter. “And even now, when people report on it, people are going to say that this was all my fault anyway. And then you tell me that I do well in the spotlight.” She bowed her head, hiding her face in her wild mop of hair. “I really, really want to just not care about what people think of me, but no matter how tough I try to be, sometimes it gets to me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kurt softly. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

Courtney lifted her head and sniffled, wiping at her eye and smearing her makeup. “Thanks,” she said flatly. She went quiet for a moment, looking at her hands, which were laced together by her fingers. “I feel like… like I need to be honest with you, and I’d like you to be honest with me too, okay?”

Images of his fantasy of just living with Courtney and Krist together flashed through Kurt’s mind again. “I’d like to do that, yeah,” he said. “I have things I want to say too.”

Courtney reached into her pocket for a tissue, and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh yeah?” she said with a quivering smile, “do you want to go first?”

“I think you should go.”

Courtney hesitated. “I don’t… it’s…” She stopped, and held her fist in front of her mouth, scrunching up the tissue in her grip. “I think, maybe, we should both go. Together.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” said Courtney. She took a deep breath, and put her arms at her side. “On the count of three, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt said nervously. The two of them stared at each other, and counted down. “One… two… three...”

“I think I’m in love with Krist.”

“I slept with Billy Corgan in Rome.”

Both of these sentences came out at the same time. They stared at each other, both unsure of how to react to what the other said. Kurt felt his stomach start to burn, and his heart drop like a lead weight.

“Oh, wow.”

Kurt, Courtney and Frances turned their heads to look at the hospital door, and standing in the doorway, was a slack-jawed Dave Grohl, with a “GET WELL SOON!” balloon in one hand and an oversized Snoopy plush in the other. Dave’s face turned red.

“Uh… I think I came in at a bad time,” he sputtered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ll just… I’ll just wait. Somewhere else. Sorry.” He bowed his head and shuffled off, with the Mylar balloon bobbing after him.

Kurt turned back to look at Courtney, who was bristling as she hugged herself. “Fuck,” Courtney muttered. “Goddammit, motherfucking donkey-faced sonuvabitch, of all the fucking times to--” She looked up, and noticed Kurt, who appeared to be sinking into his mattress as Frances looked at him with concern. “Kurt?”

“Thank you for being honest with me, Courtney,” he said, in a slow, robotic monotone. “But I think I need to be alone now.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Courtney protested. “It was just a hook-up. It’s not like I’m in love with someone else, like _ you _\--”

“Please,” said Kurt, more firmly now. “I just need to be alone.”

Courtney walked back to the side of the bed, and scooped up Frances in her arms. “I want to make this marriage work, you know,” said Courtney. “I still love you.”

“I love you too,” said Kurt, not even moving his head to look at her.

Quickly, Courtney leaned over and kissed Kurt on the side of his mouth, but Kurt didn’t have the heart to reciprocate. Courtney stood up straight again. “We’ll see you again soon. Say bye-bye to daddy, sweetie.”

“Bah-bah,” said Frances. Kurt turned his head to see her wave at him and blow him a kiss. He gave a weak smile, and watched as Courtney left the room.

Once she was gone, he turned over on his side, curling into a ball, and tried to swallow the sobs trying to come up out of his throat, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep them down. Instead, he grabbed hold of his pillow, and pressed it against his face as he cried into it.


	4. Do Re Mi

Kurt was still lying down on his side when he heard someone knocking on the door frame. “Who is it?” asked Kurt in a gravelly voice.

“It’s just me,” said Dave. “Can I come in?”

Kurt rolled onto his back and sat upright. Dave’s tilted head was peering into the room, his long, black hair hanging like a curtain. Dave gave an awkward, toothy smile.

“Yeah, come in,” said Kurt.

Dave stepped inside, still holding the balloon and the giant plush of Snoopy, looking like an overgrown child having come back from a county fair. His head was bowed slightly, clearly feeling foolish, and he stood by Kurt’s bedside.

“I got you some presents,” said Dave, trying to sound chipper. He handed over the balloon and Snoopy to Kurt, who held the plush with his arm tucked underneath the cartoon beagle’s floppy arm as its legs rested on his lap.

“Thanks,” said Kurt.

“I was actually hoping to find you a Stimpy doll,” explained Dave, fiddling nervously with his hair. “But I didn’t have any luck finding one at the mall yesterday, so I ended up grabbing Snoopy and the balloon at a Hallmark store like, right before I got here. Shit, I should’ve gotten you a card...”

“That’s fine,” said Kurt. “You can sit down, you know.”

“Ha ha, yeah.” Dave sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed. He leaned back in his seat, his hands on his lap, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “So, uh… how are you doing?”

“Been better,” said Kurt. “I’m sure you can guess why.”

“Yeah, I… wasn’t eavesdropping or anything, I hadn’t even been paying attention until I was right in the door,” Dave tried to coax out a laugh, but it faltered. “You’d think playing drums for a living would give me better timing, huh?”

Kurt let out a quiet, amused snort. “On the contrary, my dear David, your timing was _ impeccable, _” he said, putting on a pompous British accent.

“Impeccably _ bad, _” said Dave. “Jesus, Kurt, I’m sorry about that and, shit, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”

Kurt took the balloon ribbon and, while still holding the Snoopy doll against him with his left arm, started to tie the bright yellow curling ribbon around his wrist. “It’s not anything you gotta apologize for,” said Kurt. “To be honest… I had my suspicions about Courtney seeing Billy. I just didn’t want them to be true.”

“Still, though, it really fucking sucks, dude,” said Dave. “I think Courtney went outside for a smoke and might have just… left.”

“I guess I can’t blame her,” said Kurt. “I’ve been wanting to go out for a smoke myself.”

“You can’t blame her?” Dave asked. “I mean… you guys both dropped some pretty heavy shit on each other, but hers was _ way _ heavier, you know?”

“And what do you think about what I said?” Kurt asked, looking up at Dave.

Dave went quiet for a bit, looking across the floor in thought. “I mean… I guess it’s not that surprising.” he said. “It kind of all makes sense. Krist doesn’t use tongue on me the way he does with you, which means I’m just his side ho.”

Kurt snickered into the back of Snoopy’s head in an attempt to muffle his laughter, and this in turn got a chortle out of Dave.

“So… you’re okay with it?” Kurt asked, raising his chin on top of Snoopy’s head.

“I mean...” Dave shrugged and gestured broadly, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head, clapping a hand on his thigh, all gestures of confusion with no words, before he finally thought of something. “I’ve been told it’s generally not a good idea to date bandmates, but that’s mostly in terms of a guy and a girl. I don’t know if it’s any different with two dudes.”

“What about Kim and Thurston?”

“I said ‘generally,’ not always,” said Dave, sounding more than a bit flustered. “They can make it work. Their chemistry is just… fuckin’ amazing. But, I mean, that’s just something I heard. It’s not like I’ve ever been in a band with a girl I’ve been dating. I’ve never even been in a band with a girl.”

Kurt considered this for a moment. “So basically,” he said, “your main concern is how a potential relationship would affect the band?”

“Is that bad?” asked Dave, but before Kurt could answer, he continued. “‘Cause it’s not like I have a problem with you two hooking up, since that’s none of my business and hey, we’re all 90’s kind of guys, right? I just don’t want something happening between you two and that leading to the band breaking up, and being caught in the middle of all that. Does that make sense?”

Kurt felt another shot of pain in his gut, and winced. “Yeah, that… that makes sense,” he said.

“Good, because, honestly, Nirvana is the best thing to ever happen to me,” said Dave, now beaming. “I’m just... _ so _ grateful for everything you and Krist have been able to offer me. I feel so lucky to be a part of it, and to be able to work with you guys. The last thing I want is for you two to have some nasty break-up that ends up ending the band.”

Kurt sunk deeper into the fuzzy body of Snoopy, wishing he could somehow disappear into it.

“Are you okay?” Dave asked.

Kurt gave a weak nod. Dave slunk back into his chair, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Krist said that you’ve been stressed out a lot lately,” Dave said. “And that the stress has really fucked with your head. It’s okay if you need to take a break from the band, you know.”

Kurt looked up from Snoopy, his eyes dewy with freshly forming tears.

“You’ve given me a lot,” Dave continued, “and I love being in Nirvana. But if you need to get away from that, then that’s okay. We’ll try and work something out with the label. You can take as long as you need. It doesn’t matter how long. But whenever you’re ready to come back… well, I’d be honored to play with you again.” He smiled warmly, and put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Me and everybody else, we just want you to get better and kick ass every day.”

Kurt coughed up a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Thank you,” he said.

“We’re all here for you, man,” said Dave. He was about to add to this sentiment when Kurt pulled him in for a hug, wrapping his skinny arms around Dave and squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry for what?” asked Dave.

Kurt just shook his head. He wanted to say “everything,” but instead he just held onto Dave, using Dave’s t-shirt to dry his eyes. They stayed like that, though for how long, Kurt couldn’t say. It felt like a long time but it also didn’t feel nearly long enough before Dave spoke up again.

“I wanted to tell you that Krist might be arriving later than planned,” he said. “He said there was some stuff he wanted to pick up for you.”

Kurt finally let Dave go, and lay back against the hospital bed. “Yeah?” he asked. “Like what?”

“He said he wanted it to be a surprise,” said Dave. “He didn’t even tell me what he was planning, just that he would ‘come bearing gifts.’”

“Yeah, why not?” Kurt said as Dave smiled wide. “Christmas in April.”

Kurt relaxed considerably, and for the next hour, he and Dave found themselves just talking; talking about current events, music, friends, all the normal things that had absolutely nothing to do with why Kurt was there and why a chunk of his ear was just gone. Kurt showed Dave the lyrics he wrote and the drawings he made, watching as Dave flipped through the pages with curiosity, and leaning over when Dave showed particular interest with certain verses. Dave even discussed his own ideas for songs, and Kurt found himself nodding and encouraging him to record them. After all, Kurt noted, Mike Patton was in two different bands. Dave lit up at the suggestion, his hands balled up into fists as he shook them in excitement. Kurt knew that if anybody in the band had the ambition to juggle multiple musical projects at the same time, it was Dave.

It was almost enough to make Kurt forget about the fear that his marriage could very well be crumbling beneath him.

_ Almost. _

Kurt wasn’t sure how long he and Dave had been talking, but it didn’t feel it’d been that long when a nurse came by. “You got another visitor, Mr. Cobain. Should I send him in?”

“I bet that’s Krist,” said Dave.

“Yeah, send him in!” said Kurt.

The nurse craned her neck back out the door, and called out. “Come on in, big fella, he says it’s fine!”

As the nurse stepped out of the doorway, in came Krist, walking backwards, pulling a cart overflowing with flower arrangements arrangements and a few teddy bears. “I come bearing gifts!” declared Krist in a hoarse voice, pushing the hospital cart by Kurt’s bedside. He had one arm raised, carrying a camcorder; hardly an unusual sight for Krist. “Oh, and these came in for you, too,” he added, gesturing to the flowers as he panned over them with the camera.

“Holy shit,” Dave said with a laugh.

“Wow,” said Kurt.

“Trust me, there’s gonna be more like these,” said Krist, lifting up a bouquet. “I know at least one of these is from ole’ Mr. Geffen himself.”

“I’m surprised he remembered I exist,” said Kurt.

“But wait, there’s more!” said Krist. He knelt down to the bottom tray and pulled up a large paper grocery bag. “I know you’re gonna be here for a while, so I made sure that you’ve got supplies.” He placed the bag on the bed, and Kurt leaned forward, pulling the opening of the bag towards him by the rim as he peered inside. He reached in, and pulled out a set of silk pajamas with a smile.

“Figured you would need something besides that hospital gown,” said Krist.

“Oh, yeah,” said Kurt. He couldn’t remember when he changed out of his bloodied clothes and into the gown. The pajamas were a deep maroon color, and had embroidered gold trim. He ran his thumb over the material as he held them in his hands. “They feel really nice.”

“Hell yeah, they do,” said Krist. “Check out what else I got you.”

Kurt peered back into the bag, and pulled out a bright yellow Walkman with a set of cushioned headphones. Kurt looked back up at Krist, who had the camera trained on him, and gave Krist a shy, but genuine, smile. He opened the Walkman, and found it empty. Dave grabbed the opening of the back and gave it a shake, and it let out a plastic rattling sound. Krist grinned as Dave turned the bag over, and let loose a cascade of cassette tapes onto Kurt’s lap.

“Ta da!” said Krist triumphantly.

“Damn, Kurt, you’ve hit the jackpot!” said Dave. “Shit, look at all these!” He picked up the first tape on the pile. “You got him ‘Maggot Brain?’”

“What’s ‘Maggot Brain?’” Kurt asked.

“It’s an album by Funkadelic,” Krist answered. “Basically I went down to the record store and tried to pick out some stuff you might not have heard before. Everything here is all stuff the guy working there recommended.”

Kurt and Dave sorted through the collection of tapes on the bed. “Let’s see, My Bloody Valentine, I think I’ve heard of them,” said Dave. “Swans? Don’t they do like, harsh noise stuff?”

“Yeah, but that album is supposed to be more melodic,” said Krist, pointing to the cassette with artwork of a rabbit dressed in old-fashioned children’s clothes and wielding a knife. “It should be good.”

“I’ve heard some of their older stuff,” said Kurt. “They’re alright.”

“Is this a Residents album?” asked Dave, looking over a cassette adorned with a photo of four people dressed in tuxedos and eyeball masks with top hats.

“Nah, that’s the Jackson 5,” said Krist sarcastically.

“But there's four of them,” said Dave, acting as though he was genuinely confused.

“Haven’t listened to a whole lot of The Residents,” Kurt said. “Always meant to.” He picked up another tape cassette for a band called The Birthday Party. “I like the album art for this one,” said Kurt, holding up a cassette with a drag-racing ghoul holding up a birthday cake. “That’s Big Daddy Roth, right?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he did the album art for that one,” said Krist, as Kurt went to pick up another tape.

“Oh, hey, 2Pac,” said Kurt. “I think Dan Quayle publicly condemned this guy’s music. That’s a pretty good sign.”

“What the hell is this?” Dave picked up a tape with a black and white portrait of a Japanese woman on the front and Japanese text running down the side.

“That was some random import,” said Krist. “Some pop music from the 80’s. I don’t know, I just kind of picked it out by chance.”

Kurt took the tape from Dave and read the name from the top corner aloud. “Mariya… Take-oochi? I’m pretty sure I said that wrong.”

“Maybe if we meet Shonen Knife again, they’ll help us out,” said Krist.

“Oh man,” said Kurt wistfully. “I’d love to see Shonen Knife again live. They were amazing.”

“I think they were scared of me,” said Krist in a jocular manner.

“That’s just ‘cause they don’t make guys as big as you in Japan,” said Dave, still sorting through the tapes. “Speaking of big guys, what’s with the Big Bopper in here?”

“Big Bopper?” Kurt asked, and looked at the cassette in Dave’s hand. It was _Chantilly Lace Starring The Big Bopper,_ complete with an image of the Bopper himself with his guitar slung over his shoulder and a telephone up to his ear, a look of silly suprise on his face as the words “HELLOOO BABY!” floated above his head towards a flirty redhead in the background, much larger than the Big Bopper himself. Kurt’s expression faltered, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as his smile faded.

“You okay?” asked Dave.

“If you hate it that much, I can take it back,” started Krist, but Kurt cut him off.

“No, no, it’s just… weird, is all.” Kurt flipped the cassette over. “He died in that plane crash with Buddy Holly.”

“The Day the Music Died,” Krist noted.

“Hey, didn’t you…?” Dave trailed off as Kurt reached for the notepad, and flipped to a drawing that, rudimentary as it was, was unmistakably Buddy Holly.

“I had this dream,” said Kurt. “All these images of awful tragedies happening and Buddy Holly’s smiling face just… looking down on all of it.”

Krist peered over with the camera, and adjusted the focus to the drawing. “Whoa,” he said. “You think it’s some kind of omen, dude?” He was still trying to maintain a playful mood, but Kurt’s wide, spooked eyes made Krist shift uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “It’s… uncanny, I guess? I think if you’d brought over something by Buddy Holly and the Crickets, I might have pissed myself.”

“Geez, man, I’m sorry,” said Krist. “I had no idea.”

“No, no… it’s fine,” Kurt shook his head, and took a deep breath. “It’s probably all a weird coincidence...” Kurt’s voice trailed off, but he looked back up to Krist, and flashed him a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for,” said Krist.

“_That’s what friends are for, _” Dave sang in response, as though he were auditioning for a barbershop quartet, and he wrapped an arm around Kurt so that he was giving Kurt a side hug.

“… Okay?” Kurt said, laughing a bit in response. “Is that from a Disney movie or something?”

“Jungle Book, man!” said Dave. He looked at Krist. “How do you not recognize that from The Jungle Book?”

“Sorry, I mostly just remember ‘Bear Necessities,’” said Kurt. “It’s the best song in that whole movie.”

“How pedestrian of you,” said Dave. “What about ‘I Wanna Be Like You?’”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t singing that one, you were singing the one with the weird British vultures at the end,” said Krist. “But yeah, I’m with Dave, ‘I Wanna Be Like You’ is way better than ‘Bear Necessities.’”

“Fuck you, that was the first one I remembered,” said Kurt in a snarky tone.

“I thought you would’ve gone for the deep cuts, man,” said Dave.

“Deep cuts on fucking Disney movies?” Kurt asked.

“You’re right, you probably prefer that dude that did The Land Before Time,” said Krist. “He’s got more indie cred.”

Kurt found himself grinning, and he brushed his hair behind his good ear. He looked up at Krist, who was holding the camera away from his face but still aimed at Kurt, with the camcorder screen flipped outward. He gazed at Krist, and the thought of wanting to curl up inside of his shirt and just hide in there with his head poking out like a curious kitten took hold. His face went red at the thought.

“Anyway,” said Kurt, “I’m really glad you guys are here.”

“Of course!” said Krist. “I’m kind of surprised Courtney’s not here.”

The room went quiet. Kurt looked sullen, and Dave made a slicing motion across his throat with two pointed fingers. Krist closed the camcorder screen and stopped recording. “Oh,” said Krist. “Did something happen?”

Dave just looked to Kurt, who let his head hang as he sighed. He peeked through his hair at Krist, and motioned him to come closer to the bed. Krist set the camera down, and leaned over Kurt with concern. Before Krist could say anything, Kurt wrapped his arms around Krist’s neck and shoulders, pulling him close and burying his face in Krist’s hair. He took a deep breath, partly a sigh and partly to just smell Krist; he had a faint smell of sweat and hair oil, but it was subtle enough that it wasn’t overpowering or offensive, but instead warm, somehow, and comforting. Krist wrapped his arms around Kurt’s slight body, patting him on the back.

“It’s okay,” he said softly to Kurt. “We’re here for you.”

Kurt let out a muffled “thanks” into Krist’s neck. Dave eventually came up from behind and wrapped his arms around them both, making a sort-of Kurt sandwich. They stayed like this, quietly, for a period of time that felt like it lasted for an hour but also somehow felt like only a minute. Kurt didn’t want to let go and have to face Courtney again.

He knew he would have to. He really did love her, and would probably forgive her, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. At any rate, Billy Corgan was now officially on his shit list.

“There’s a tape digging into my thigh,” said Dave, who had one leg propped up on the bed to lean in close.

“Shhhh,” hushed Krist in a soft voice. “I think he needs this.”

And Kurt did, indeed, need this.


	5. Shaped Like Suicide

Throughout the afternoon, Kurt had been visited by more guests (his sister, his mother again, the band’s manager, even Pat Smear, and a couple of hanger-ons) to the point where nurses were starting to turn people away that weren’t his immediate family, as a few paparazzi had tried to come in claiming to be friends, only to be escorted away when Kurt made use of the call button by his bed. There was something very satisfying in seeing a 6’2” male nurse physically put his hands on some creep with a camera and push him out the door. Apparently the media had gathered outside the hospital, and while most of them just lined up outside with their news vans and had reporters stand in front of the hospital as a backdrop, there was always a few bastards looking to sneak in and sell photos to the tabloids.

Fuckers, Kurt thought. Parasites, all of them.

Kurt had also been freed from the IV drip, now taking pills in tiny paper cups. No IV meant that Kurt could actually move around freely, and being able to piss without using a bedpan already put him in a slightly better mood. He’d also been able to wash his face and his hair, and change into the pajamas Krist had gifted him. Now cleaned up somewhat, he looked at himself in the tiny mirror under the sickly yellow light. He still looked worn out, bags under his eyes, but his cheeks weren’t quite as gaunt as they’d been before. The light, however, made his complexion sallow. He bared his teeth in the mirror. Dinner wouldn’t be brought in for a while, so he brushed his teeth thoroughly with the plastic-wrapped toothbrush provided by the hospital.

When he came back out, there was Doris again, now with a jacket over her scrubs. “Nice PJs there,” she remarked. “Your mother bring you those?”

“Nah, my friend did,” said Kurt. “You like them?”

“They’re nicer’n anything I’ve got at home,” she said. “Anyway, my shift is over. Gotta get six hours of sleep before I come back here again.”

“That’s rough,” said Kurt.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can get paid to smash guitars on stage, Mr. Rock Star,” she said. “Howzat song go? ‘Money for nothin’?”

“Chicks for free,” Kurt finished. “Not really that into Dire Straits myself.”

“Hell, I don’t know ‘em, I just heard that song before. My son watched a bunch a’ MTV when he was a teenager. Wait’ll I tell him I helped a patient whose been on it.”

Kurt let out a little “heh” in response.

“Well, anyway, you should at least walk around a bit and maybe do some stretches,” said Doris. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” said Kurt, as the woman walked away with a wave. He always looked forward to seeing Doris check in on him. She was a no-nonsense kind of lady who came across like she’d seen some shit, but wasn’t so jaded that she’d stopped caring. He wondered about her, what she might have been like when she was younger, her experiences growing up, what made her into the person she was today. Was she tough as nails from the start, or did the world make her have to build armor against the blows life may have dealt her? And for a moment, he wondered if Frances would ever become jaded by the world, and turn out bitter and angry instead of being strong. God, he hoped not.

He had been listening to the tapes he’d been gifted on and off throughout the day since his tinnitus finally subsided. With his Walkman in hand, he popped in a tape he hadn’t listened to yet from the pile in the paper bag, with the ones he had listened to stacked on the table by his hospital bed. He walked over to his window and looked outside. The sun was starting to edge towards the treeline, and the shadows stretched out across the campus below. It wasn’t raining, but a blanket of clouds inched across the sky, intent on blocking out the sunset. Kurt popped open the Walkman, and put the headphones over his ears. He went to put the tape inside and paused.

_Chantilly Lace._ The Big Bopper.

Kurt removed the tape from its case, and with his fingers trembling slightly, he slid it into the Walkman. It clicked into place, and he snapped the Walkman shut with a snap. He pressed play.

Kurt tucked the clip on the Walkman into the waistband of his pajama pants, and heard a low, playful baritone voice croon out “HELL-OOOO, BABY!” He braced himself on the windowsill, and arched his back as far as he could without throwing it out as the guitar kicked in. He rolled his shoulders, he lifted his legs one at a time, stretching them out to the side and up into the air behind him. The energy of the song felt more authentic than, say, an Elvis song; Big Bopper was a big ham, his energy was infectious. When Kurt stood upright, he stretched his left arm above his head, holding onto his elbow with his right arm, and stretched to his left side. He was starting to bob his head to the music as he stretched to the other side. It wasn’t something he would have picked out for himself, but it was hard not to get into it.

As he bent to his right side, he felt a sharp twinge in his guts. Kurt grit his teeth, and doubled over, clutching his stomach. He started seeing translucent yellow blobs hover across his vision as it felt like he was being stabbed, and he fell to his knees as his legs turned to jelly. He put both hands on the floor to hold himself up as he felt a cold sweat break out across his back, and he gasped and dry-heaved. Methadone. He needed another dose of methadone, just enough to make it bearable, just enough to keep the urge for the Junk away. Kurt’s arms wobbled, and as they gave out, everything went black.

~

Before Kurt even opened his eyes, he felt the cold linoleum of the hospital floor on his cheek. He opened his eyes into a squint. The fluorescent lighting above him felt harsher than it had before, and the buzzing so much louder. Kurt pushed himself up off the ground, and took the headphones off his ears. It was weirdly quiet. Not just quiet, but silent save for the lights buzzing. As he stood up, he looked around the room. No nurses anywhere. He walked to the door, and poked his head out. No nurses, no doctors, no patients, no receptionists, not even a janitor could be seen roaming the sanitized hospital halls. No sounds but the electric buzz of the lights and the sound of Kurt’s bare feet against the linoleum floor.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice cracking. “Hello?”

His apprehensive greeting just echoed slightly. Cautiously, he stepped out of the room and he looked around, not having the faintest idea of what to do. He turned to his right, and started walking. As he crept forward, he would look into the hospital rooms along the way, each one unoccupied. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see.

Once he reached the end of the hall, he heard the faint sound of an acoustic guitar, accompanied by a warbly crooning. Kurt stepped forward on tip-toes, his better ear leading him forward. His eyes darted around nervously, trying to place that voice. It sounded familiar, and he felt a knot in his throat forming, and he suppressed a shudder from crawling up his spine. He reached a waiting room, and through a glass window, saw the back of a man’s head bobbing. That voice, that voice that was somehow chipper and cheery but tinged with melancholy, was singing about heartbreak and how it doesn’t matter anymore. The man stopped, turning his curly-haired head slightly, showing a hint of large, black-framed glasses.

“Don’t be shy, stranger,” said the man in a friendly voice. He turned around, flashing a bright smile with big teeth, his eyes marked with a mischievous twinkle. “You’re just the fella I was hoping to see.”

Kurt stumbled to a halt. No fucking way. “You’re Buddy Holly,” he said, exhaling the words in a single, soft breath.

“That’s me, alright!” said Buddy. “Come on in here, sit down a spell. We have a lot to talk to you about.”

“Wait, ‘we?’” Kurt asked.

“Well, the other guys should be comin’ on by, ‘cause they got their own piece to say, but at the moment, it’ll just be you and me. Now, c’mon around to the front and take a seat.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kurt walked along the outer wall of the tiny room until he reached the doorway. Inside were chairs lining the walls, with little side tables in the corners stacked with months-old magazines. Kurt sat down in a chair opposite of Buddy, not able to take his eyes off of him, as Buddy strummed his guitar, in a sort of lazy, care-free way. As Kurt slumped forward, elbows on his knees, Buddy chuckled.

“Not one for good posture, are ya?” he said.

“What the hell is going on?” Kurt asked in a clipped tone. “Why am I dreaming about your face over all these bad things happening?”

“Ah, you’re a straight-shooter. I like that,” said Buddy. “I should probably stop dilly-dallying, then.”

“Please,” said Kurt.

“Well, I gotta be honest with ya, you’re probably not gonna like what I have to say, but it needs saying, so here goes.” Buddy set aside his guitar in the seat next to him, and he cleared his throat. “Ya see, you’re not supposed to be alive right now.”

“Is that right?” Kurt reached into the front pocket of his pajama pants, only to realize that he never had a pack of cigarettes in there in the first place.

“Need a smoke?” Buddy flicked his wrist and a single cigarette appeared in his hand.

“Cute trick,” said Kurt as he plucked the cigarette from Buddy’s fingers. “Got a--” He stopped as he saw Buddy now had a lighter in his hand, complete with a tiny flame dancing from its tip. Kurt leaned forward further, cigarette in mouth, and inhaled as the tip ignited. The nicotine rushed into his system, and he leaned back, puffing out a plume of smoke over his head. “So, I’m supposed to be dead, huh?”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” said Buddy.

“But I’m not,” said Kurt. “At least, I think I’m alive. I’m talking to a dead dude, though, so that’s kind of weird.”

“I assure you that you are, in fact, still occupying the mortal plane,” said Buddy. “And that is a problem.”

“Why’s that?” asked Kurt.

“Like I said, you’re supposed to be dead,” said Buddy. “But you aren’t, and that’s gonna ‘cause some trouble for a lot of people. Bad, bad trouble.”

“Like the kind of stuff I saw your mug floating over?” asked Kurt, gesturing lazily with his cigarette.

“Possibly,” said Buddy. “What I do know for sure is, if you go hopping around timelines and trying to make decisions to avoid your own death, more often than not, you’re just gonna wind up making things worse than if you let it be.”

Kurt just stared at Buddy, trying to parse the information just given to him. “I’m sorry, did you just… drop some kind of Star Trek shit on me? Hopping... _ timelines? _”

It was now Buddy’s turn to look confused. “What’s a Star Trek?”

Kurt groaned and started to massage his temples with his fingertips. “It’s a TV show, it’s science fiction, it came on after you died and they did some shit with like, alternate timelines and universes while flying in a giant spaceship in the future.”

“Well, I don’t think I know anything about all that,” said Buddy. “But I do know what it’s like to wish you weren’t dead, and to wanna go back and change that one little thing that killed you. For me and Ritchie and Big Bopper, we all tried to undo what got us on that ole’ plane, but every time we tried it again, something else went wrong. Different people would die, we’d end up dying later some other horrible way, our lives would fall apart somehow… all it ever brought was more and more suffering.”

“Sounds like you got into some kinda Groundhog Day scenario,” said Kurt.

“What do groundhogs have anything to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” said Kurt, and he took another drag on his cigarette. “It’s another reference you won’t get. Don’t worry about it.”

“Anyway,” said Buddy, sounding irritated at this point, “point is, you’ve started doing the same thing.”

“Wouldn’t I know if I did?” asked Kurt.

“No, you wouldn’t know it until after you died again,” said Buddy. “But for now, all I know is that, for some reason, you had second thoughts about shooting yourself, and now you’ve found a way to go back and try and re-do things from the moment before you pulled the trigger.”

“So, why are you here, then?” asked Kurt. “If what you’re saying is true, and I’ve already started this new timeline or whatever, then why are you warning me about it?”

“Because unlike us, the circumstances of your death were different,” said Buddy. All the friendliness in his voice was completely gone now, and his eyes, so bright and twinkly before, were now sunken, hollow. “You chose your death consciously. We’ve looked through the timelines. We had a window of one night to die before things got real bad for us. You, you’re lucky enough that you get until the eve of your 28th birthday before those bad things start happening to you. You still have time. You don’t have to cause any more suffering if you die before then.”

A maelstrom of dread and anger was brewing within Kurt. He looked at Buddy with contempt, flicking cigarette ash towards the ghost seated across from him. “What the fuck difference does it make if I die before my next birthday, huh?” he asked. “All this talk about suffering, well guess what, I tried to escape my suffering, and I just felt like more of an asshole when I didn’t die. Maybe I’m just meant to suffer. But I’ll suffer nine kinds of Hell if that means I get another chance to fix my shit.”

“You don’t understand,” said Buddy. “You’re not the only one that’s gonna suffer. You living means that people would have otherwise lived will die, and that’s gonna include your friends… and your family.”

“Are you threatening me?” asked Kurt.

“No, you damned idiot, I’m trying to _ help _ you!” Buddy rose to his feet and stood over Kurt, glaring down at him. “I’m trying to save you from the pain of having to see your friends in closed caskets, knowing that they died in your place, all ‘cause you wanted a second chance. The universe has a balance to it, Kurt, and if you try and climb your way onto the other scale, the universe will just move someone to the other end to keep things even, and you’re gonna wind up going crazy because you’ll know, you’ll just _ know, _ that it should’ve been you.”

Kurt stared up at Buddy, his mouth slightly agape, stunned into silence. He never thought he’d be getting yelled at by a ghost, let alone the ghost of Buddy Fucking Holly. His unease quickly turned to resentment, however, and he scowled at Buddy as he flicked his cigarette at Buddy’s shoe. It bounced right off the toe of his shiny black shoe and landed on the ground with a roll. Kurt stood to his feet, and stomped on the cigarette with his bare foot. He didn’t even feel it.

“You’re gonna regret not listening,” said Buddy. “I tried to help you. I just wanna stop you from repeating the same mistakes we made.”

“This is just a dream,” Kurt scoffed. “You’re not real, none of this is real, and I’m gonna go back to my life, get clean, get the help I need, and live happily fucking ever after with my wife and daughter and all of my friends and the universe can go fuck itself!”

Buddy’s anger subsided, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes marked with sadness and defeat. He backed away from Kurt a few steps, and sighed. He looked Kurt up and down, and shook his head. “I did my best to warn you,” he said. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” said Kurt, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. He turned to leave, only to see a curly-haired, apple-cheeked teenage boy standing in his way. The boy swayed slightly as he stood, rolling a quarter between his fingers as he stared blankly ahead. The boy’s eyes finally focused on Kurt, and the boy tried to give a friendly smile.

“I won that coin toss,” he said. “I _ won. _”

“Ritchie--” Buddy started, but was cut off.

“I won,” Ritchie repeated, his eyes growing dewy, his voice cracking and his lips quivering. “I won, but I didn’t really win. I lost. I lost _ everything. _”

“We know, Ritchie, we know,” said Buddy, trying to nudge Kurt aside to get to the boy. “It’s alright--”

“It’s not fair!” Ritchie shouted, causing Kurt to step back up against Buddy. “It’s not fair, I’m just a kid, what’d I ever do to deserve dying in a plane crashed into some ole’ field?”

“You didn’t do anything to deserve it, things just happen that way sometimes,” said Buddy, pushing back against Kurt, who was now sandwiched between two dead guys and feeling a sense of panic set in.

“I didn’t even turn 18 yet, I only just started playing rock n’ roll, and I won a coin toss so I didn’t have to ride on a freezing ole’ bus!” Ritchie was frantic now, gibbering to himself. “I shoulda never gone on that tour with you! I shoulda never got into the music business!”

A weird, baritone howl echoed through the corridors, and the lights above them started to flicker. Kurt whipped his head around, trying to look for the source of the noise. He knew that voice. It was the same one he’d been listening to earlier.

“Aw, geez, what’s Bopper doin’ now?” groaned Buddy.

“He’s a big, weird man!” said Ritchie. “He’s come knockin’ at our door!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kurt yelled, trying to navigate around the two dead men. “Let me go!”

Big Bopper howled again, louder now, and the lights flickered so hard and fast, it created a strobe effect. Harsh shadows splashed across Buddy and Ritchie’s faces, which were warping and contorting with inhuman screams. Buddy’s glasses were crushed, dangling off his lacerated face, as his head split open down the middle and his brains dribbled out. He tried to cover his wounds with his fractured arms, screaming in anguish as he retreated back into the corner. Kurt whirled around to see Ritchie, whose head was smashed like a rotten watermelon, half of his face flat and his head gaping open so that he was no longer recognizable as anything remotely human. He gurgled, and blood bubbled from a hole that used to be his mouth, and he ran away down the hall, making noises that sounded like someone sobbing face-first into a bowl of raw hamburger. Kurt took this opportunity to bolt out of the waiting room and down the hall, bare feet hitting the floor like hammers. Bopper howled again, and a light above Kurt’s head blew out in a shower of white hot sparks. Kurt ducked and swerved to avoid them, but crashed against the wall, and staggered forward.

“HELP ME!” Kurt screamed. “SOMEBODY HELP ME, HELP ME WAKE UP, HELP ME WAKE--”

As Kurt woke, his body jerked violently, and he screamed and flailed as multiple nurses flocked him to pin him down. That big male nurse from before held down Kurt’s left arm, and as Kurt looked over to him, he saw that they’d put another IV back into him.

“Take it easy, take it easy,” said the big nurse, in an oddly calm voice. “It’s okay. We’re all cool, here. You’re gonna be fine.”

Kurt, still breathing heavily, let his limbs go limp as he sunk back into the bed. His chest heaved as he looked at the three nurses and Dr. Chen all standing over him, looking down at him with a mix of worry and confusion. One nurse was holding a syringe that she had stuck in a small bottle, but set it down on the medical tray. Dr. Chen leaned in.

“Mr. Cobain?” she asked in a honeyed voice. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt felt his stomach cramp, and hissed. “Not great,” he said with a hiss. “What happened?”

“Ted found you passed out on the floor by your window,” said Dr. Chen, gesturing to the big nurse. “Do you remember what you were doing before that?”

“Stretching,” said Kurt, “and then my stomach started hurting again, really bad, and I got dizzy and I guess I just passed out.”

“Ah, yes, the stomach pains,” said Dr. Chen. Kurt’s mom had brought the issue up when they were discussing Kurt’s treatment the other day. “We can schedule an endoscopy for tomorrow, if you like, see if we can’t figure out what’s wrong--”

Kurt groaned. “I’ve already had an endoscopy done, I’ve had a dozen of them done and they never find anything.” He said. “Every time I just get told to drink milk and eat ice cream and avoid stress and nothing ever changes.” He hung his head. “I just… I just couldn’t take always being in pain all the time, and nobody ever takes me seriously.”

“Good grief,” muttered the nurse with the syringe.

“Joyce, please,” said Ted. “The man is suffering.”

“If we’re to treat you effectively, then we’re going to need to address your stomach problems,” said Dr. Chen. “And I assure you, Mr. Cobain, we will take this problem very seriously. In the meantime, Joyce, could you go fetch some ibuprofen for our patient?”

“Sure,” said Joyce, and promptly left the room.

“Please don’t hesitate to use the call button if you find yourself in pain again,” said Dr. Chen, as she approached Kurt’s bedside and held up the aforementioned button. “We want to avoid another incident like this in the future. Alright?”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“Good!” said Dr. Chen, putting on her friendliest face. “Now, please get some rest, and don’t over-exert yourself.”

“Sure,” said Kurt, nodding. He looked down at his right hand, and noticed the clip of a heart-rate monitor clasped onto the end of his index finger. “Do I still need to wear this?”

“At least keep it on for the rest of the night,” said Dr. Chen. “We’ll have nurses check in on you regularly over the night.”

“Okay,” said Kurt, and watched as the remaining two nurses and Dr. Chen filed out. He craned his neck to look out the doorway, and saw Dr. Chen talking to Ted, explaining something, but he couldn’t hear it. Were he to guess, she was probably telling the nurse to make sure that Kurt didn’t try and sneak any opioid painkillers. Joyce no doubt knew what was up as soon as she saw the track marks on his arms.

Kurt’s gaze turned to the ceiling, up at the fluorescent lights. He squinted, waiting for something to happen; for them to flicker, perhaps, but nothing did. They just kept buzzing steadily, and Kurt closed his eyes, still able to see the light shine through the skin of his eyelids, turning his vision a deep red.

But the last thing he wanted right now was to fall asleep.


	6. Deep Inside

The endoscopy in the morning meant that Kurt would have to go without dinner, since he’d have to go without food for at least 12 hours. Hospital food wasn’t exactly that big of a deal to miss out on, but it was still annoying to go to bed on an empty, aching stomach. The mandatory 72 hour holding period was nearing its end, and after the endoscopy, Kurt would be going to another wing for a psychiatric evaluation. From there, the next phase of his treatment would begin, whatever that happened to be. As the lights went out around the hospital floor, Kurt tried his best to get some sleep. The sleep that eventually came to him was restless, fitful, and haunted by the sound of The Big Bopper just running around like a howler monkey in his head. When a nurse came in to wake Kurt up for his endoscopy, he felt as though he’d barely gotten any sleep at all, and spent the trip to the appointment being pushed in a wheelchair, eyes closed, head tilted back, and completely silent.

The hospital staff got him up on a bed beside a large monitor, and after a brief discussion over his charts, a nurse sedated him with a gas mask, asking him to count backwards from 10. Kurt made it to six when he lost consciousness.

When he woke up again, he was on a hospital bed in a row of hospital beds, and a nurse came over to give him a cup of ginger ale and a cookie. His head was still fuzzy, and there was a radio nearby playing “Pictures of You” by The Cure. He watched the nurses on duty go back and forth between other patients waking up from surgery. Kurt just sort of stared blankly at his surroundings, chewing slowly, until his gaze landed on an old man in the bed next to him. The old man had a fresh set of stitches running down the side of his head, from his ear to his chin, holding together his sagging, liverspotted skin.

“Who’s playing this crap?” the old man shouted to no one in particular. “Who even listens to this garbage?” He turned to look at Kurt, who was still staring at him, chewing. “The hell are you looking at?”

Kurt swallowed. “Nothing,” he said.

“Somebody needs to put on some real music!” said the old man, not even acknowledging Kurt’s answer. “Put on some Sinatra, some Dean Martin! Put on some Bing Crosby!” He looked back at Kurt. “You like Sinatra, kid?”

Kurt just shrugged.

“Bah!” The old man waved his hand dismissively. “I shoulda figured. Young people don’t appreciate the classics.”

“You like Muddy Waters?” Kurt asked.

“What, they some kinda rock band?”

“Famous blues musician,” said Kurt. “One of the greatest. I thought you said you liked the classics.”

The old man recoiled with a scowl, and crossed his arms. “Real wise guy, huh?” he grumbled.

Kurt just smirked playfully, and finished the rest of his cookie. As he sucked the crumbs off his finger tips, he locked eyes with the old man as he radiated smugness. He finished with his thumb, letting it out of his mouth with a “pop!”, and settled back against the bed.

The old man squinted at Kurt, his lips pursed. “You one a’ those queer boys?” he asked in a lowered voice.

“Sure, why not?” said Kurt with a wry smile. He took a sip of ginger ale from the paper cup in his other hand, still not breaking eye contact.

“Ya wanna suck on my pecker?”

Kurt coughed and sputtered, spilling ginger ale from his mouth and his nostrils, down the front of his hospital gown. He pounded on his chest with his fist, and a nurse rushed over from the other side of the room to pat him on the back.

“You alright, sir?” she asked him.

“I’m fine,” Kurt wheezed, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Through watery eyes he looked at the old man, who just winked at him. Kurt glared at him, and quickly stuck out his tongue before it darted back into his mouth again.

“That young man tried to sexually proposition me!” said the old man, pointing at Kurt.

“What the fuck? No,” said Kurt. “You asked me if I wanted to suck on your pecker, you creep.”

“Alright, that is _ enough. _” The nurse motioned for another to get a wheelchair, which was brought to the side of Kurt’s bed. “We’ll take you back to your room, sir, and away from Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh sure, take pretty boy’s side,” Mr. Barnes said. “Nobody believes a word I say, do they?”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a liar,” said Kurt as he moved from the bed to his wheelchair.

“And you’re a cocksucker!”

“Not sucking yours, that’s for sure, you senile old fuck!”

“Ahem!” The nurse looked down at Kurt, her eyes burning as she narrowed them. Kurt slumped into his chair like a sulky child, and shot one last nasty look at Mr. Barnes before he was wheeled away. The nurse dropped him off at his hospital room with little more than a “get some rest” and judgmental stare. The doctor who performed the endoscopy on him had said earlier that he or Dr. Chen would be back with his results, and from there, he was going to talk with their resident psychologist, one Dr. Barry Singh. A quick pang in his gut flared up at the thought of yet another doctor picking his brain. Maybe he could convince the guy to medicate him into a blissful stupor and just have him live out the rest of his life in a padded cell, not hurting anymore, just numbed and dumb. _ Hey, Doc, _ he thought, _ do you still do lobotomies? Maybe we could give trepanation a try, see if letting the demons in my skull out will work. I’ll shave my head and you get out one of those hand-cranked drills, we can get this done before sundown. _

“Kurt?”

Kurt looked to the door and was surprised to see Courtney, looking as worn out and ragged as he was, standing pigeon-toed and doe-eyed and very un-Courtney-like. She was wearing an oversized sweater that exposed one bra-strap, and a skirt that barely poked out from the hem of the sweater.

“Hey,” said Kurt. “You okay?”

“Are you?” asked Courtney.

“I asked first.”

Courtney sighed. She walked over to Kurt’s bed and sat down on it. “Not great,” she said.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Courtney brushed her hair out of her face. “Not right now,” she said. “They just said you came out from a procedure.”

“When has me being fucked up in a hospital ever stopped you from giving me a piece of your mind?” asked Kurt, trying to smile. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she took hold of it, wrapping her fingers around his.

She shook her head. “I’m very tired, Kurt,” she said. “Can I just… be quiet, with you, for a little bit?”

“Sure,” said Kurt, and as soon as he answered, she slumped against him, leaning on his frail body with all her weight. Kurt just fell back into the mattress, and held her close. He wanted to know what was wrong, what could have possibly worn her down into a state like this, but that wasn’t what she needed. He wondered if this was his fault. That was probably a safe guess, considering everything. Her breathing was slow and steady, as though she was about to fall asleep right there in his bed on top of him. Even with the constant noise of the hospital machinery and staff going off all around them, Kurt felt the closest he’d felt to the beginning of their relationship than he had in years, just the two of them in bed, their bodies against each others, just warmth and breathing and steady heartbeats between them both. 

For a while, they stayed like that, all the noise blurring into the background as Courtney would occasionally sniffle. Kurt’s thoughts wandered, until finally he broke the quiet with an uneasy “Courtney?”

“What?” her voice came out gravelly, but flat, like she was hoping he’d just shut up again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t want to talk about our relationship right now--”

“It’s not about that,” said Kurt. “It’s… a hypothetical.”

Curious, Courtney lifted her head from Kurt’s chest to look up at him. “What kind of hypothetical?”

Kurt took a deep breath. If he could talk to anybody about this, it’d be Courtney. Or Krist, but Krist wasn’t here right now and somehow it felt more right to ask Courtney about this. “This is going to sound really weird,” he started, “but… what would you do if you had some kind of… I guess a premonition about the future? Like, somebody told you in a dream that you had to sacrifice yourself and if you didn’t, the people you love would be hurt or killed. What would you do?”

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re still thinking about killing yourself?” asked Courtney, sounding skeptical.

“No, no, I don’t… I don’t want to be suicidal anymore,” said Kurt.

“That doesn’t mean you _ aren’t _ suicidal,” said Courtney. “Because your little hypothetical sure sounds like you’re trying to come up with reasons to kill yourself.”

“Courtney, no, that’s not...” he stopped, and tried to regather his thoughts. “I had this dream, and in it, I was warned that if I didn’t die before my 28th birthday, that my family and friends could be hurt or killed.” He averted his gaze from hers, hiding his eyes behind his hair. “It _ frightened _ me. It didn’t feel like most dreams. It felt a genuine warning and I’m scared.”

“So what, you have a dream and now you’re convinced that it’s a _ premonition? _” asked Courtney. “I had a dream that we got invited to have tea with Prince Charles and Princess Diana, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to ring up Buckingham Palace asking whether our invitations got lost in the fucking mail.”

At the mention of Princess Diana, Kurt shuddered involuntarily, but he tried to play it off by shaking his head. “No, that’s not… you’re not getting it. It felt so real, like I was really being _ warned _\--”

“Kurt,” Courtney held Kurt’s face in her hands, lifting his head so that his eyes met hers. “It was just a dream,” she said. “It’s not real. Whoever or whatever told you this shit in your dream, they’re just in your head, babe.”

“They were ghosts,” Kurt muttered.

“Whose ghosts?”

“Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens.” said Kurt, realizing how stupid this sounded as soon as the words passed his lips.

“Oh, what, was Jimi Hendrix too busy?” Courtney teased. “Is his ghost schedule too full to pull some Charles Dickens shit in your brain, can’t send one of the other 27 club members to haunt you?”

Kurt cracked a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” said Courtney. “Trust me, nothing bad is going to happen to you, or me, or anybody else, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kurt softly. He tilted his head forward, resting it against Courtney’s. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and tilting her head so that she could press her lips against his. Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted like cherry lip balm, and all the anxieties that had been eating at Kurt around their marriage melted away as he lost himself in her, drinking in her kiss like champagne. Her tongue had just darted into his mouth when they heard a knock on the frame of the door. Courtney pulled back from the kiss, but still held Kurt close, setting his head against her breast as she stroked his hair. 

“Mr. Cobain?” It was Dr. Chen. “Sorry if this is a bad time, but Dr. Singh just had an opening and can see you now.”

“I want to meet him,” said Courtney, sitting up straighter. “He’s the psychiatrist, right?”

“Psychologist,” Dr. Chen corrected. “And yes, I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you, Mrs. Cobain.”

“Good.” Courtney kissed Kurt’s forehead and mussed his hair before she stood to her feet. “Hopefully you won’t have to stay in this stupid hospital any longer and you can just come home already.”

“We’ll see,” Kurt said.

Courtney pouted, but otherwise blew the comment off. She went to the doorway to talk to Dr. Chen, and Kurt grabbed the silk pajamas off the end of his bed, underneath the giant Snoopy, and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. As he changed out of the hospital gown and into those pajamas, he his thoughts went back to Krist. He wondered how he was holding up. Was he as tired as Courtney? He buttoned the top of his pajama shirt closed, and paused briefly before bringing up the hem of his shirt over his nose and taking a whiff. It didn’t much smell like Krist, just smelled like himself. Once changed, he stepped out of the bathroom, and looked to his wife and the doctor.

“Oh, there you are!” said Dr. Chen. “How are you feeling? Do you need a wheelchair to get to the psychiatric wing?”

“I’ll walk,” said Kurt.

“Barefoot?” Courtney asked. Kurt looked down and wiggled his toes. “Ugh, whatever. We don’t have to go outside, do we?”

“Well, there’s a balcony walkway between buildings, but other than that, no,” said Dr. Chen. “I’ll show you.”

Dr. Chen started walking, and Courtney hooked her arm around Kurt’s, and the three of them set off for the psychiatric wing. There was an idle conversation happening between his wife and the doctor, Dr. Chen saying a lot, Courtney saying very little, but Kurt found himself spacing out, observing the bustle of the hospital around him; patients being pushed in wheelchairs, patients on stretchers, a woman standing outside a hospital room dabbing her wet eyes with a balled-up tissue, a receptionist trying to look busy as she snuck furtive glances at a tiny black-and-white portable TV sitting on her desk playing _M*A*S*H*_… and all this was left behind as they passed through swinging twin doors and down the empty hallway to the balcony.

As soon as Kurt stepped outside, he took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. He hadn’t been outside in days, just content to stay secluded in his hospital room. The concrete below his feet was cold, but dry, even as a light drizzle came down from a gray blanket of clouds. He let his arm slip out from Courtney’s grasp. He didn’t have much time to take all of this in, as Courtney moved at a quick pace ahead of him, her legs swinging like scissors, every click of her heels like the blades snapping shut, and she whipped her head around to look back at Kurt and gesture with a nod of her head for him to hurry up. Before Kurt could even adjust to the outside chill, a new set of doors were opened, and Kurt hurried as Courtney let the door go behind her. He caught the door with his open palm, and walked in, his feet now touching down on carpet.

The psychiatric wing, at least the front end of it, was much quieter than the rest of the hospital. The three of them walked into a glass door labeled “Dr. Bartholomew M. Singh, PhD” in white lettering. The office looked more like one belonging to a successful young businessman rather than a psychologist; there were multiple potted plants dotting the corners of the office, some growing so high that their wide leaves brushed the ceiling, and the receptionist sat behind a raised desk in the shape of a C, with a smooth, granite finish. There was even a babbling fountain, with water running down smooth stones settled in black bowls, each bigger than the one above it, and all this water pouring down into the largest bowl at the bottom. “Wow,” said Kurt.

“Real fancy,” Courtney added. “How much did all this cost?”

Dr. Chen just laughed, and bowed her head as she approached the receptionist. “Could you let Barry know that Mr. Cobain is here with his wife?” The receptionist nodded, and paged Dr. Singh.

Kurt wandered off to the corner with the fountain. The smooth stones, the polished resin bowls, the tiny pipe at the very stop spurting out a constant stream of burbling water, all of it completely artificial, but custom-made to try and capture the tranquility of nature. Kurt leaned forward and raised his finger to stick it in the tiny, brass pipe at the top of the fountain, and was about to make contact with it when a voice startled him.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to my fountain,” said a man with a booming, British-accented voice. Kurt stood up and turned around to see a tall, dark man in a turban, with an impeccably groomed beard and mustache turned up at the ends, his laced fingers adorned with several gaudy rings and his suit perfectly tailored. He was like an Indian Brian Blessed, but Brian Blessed in the 70’s, like when Flash Gordon came out. He smiled, flashing his pearly, white teeth, like those on a game show host.

“Mr Cobain, it’s good to finally meet you,” he said. He looked to Courtney, and bowed slightly. “And your lovely wife… would you prefer I call you Mrs. Cobain? Or Mrs. Love?”

Courtney seemed taken aback, laughing a bit as she fiddled with the necklace she was wearing. “Ah ha ha ha… oh, wow,” she said. “Not used to being called ‘lovely.’”

Dr. Singh held out his hand to Courtney in a gentlemanly manor, and she nervously put her hand in his. Kurt stepped forward, away from the fountain, ready to see this guy try and plant a kiss on her hand like some kind of knight in shining armor, but instead, the doctor placed his other hand atop of Courtney’s and gave it a gentle, single shake. “And why should you not expect such treatment, hmmm?” asked Dr. Singh. “Are you saying that I’m mistaken?”

This got a girlish giggle from Courtney. Kurt just beheld all this before him in a stupor. This whole thing felt weird. This dude felt almost unnaturally charming; Courtney was completely disarmed, laughing in earnest. She looked back to Kurt, as if to say _ get a load of this guy, _ before turning back to Dr. Singh. “No, actually,” she said. “You’re right. I’m downright fucking charming, isn’t that right, babe?” She looked back to Kurt again with a mischievous smirk.

“Hell yeah,” said Kurt.

Dr. Singh roared with laughter, patting Courtney’s hand before letting it slip from his grasp. “And absolutely gushing confidence as well!” he said. “But, as pleased as I am to meet you, madam, we are here, of course, for your husband, Kurt.” He offered his hand to Kurt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cobain.”

Kurt took a hold of his large hand, and found himself surprised by just how soft it was, and even more surprised by how strong his grip was. Kurt’s whole body shook with the handshake, but Dr. Singh stood completely solid. “Nice to meet you too,” said Kurt.

“Thank you,” said Dr. Singh, releasing Kurt’s hand from his grip. “Are you ready to begin?”

Kurt looked to Courtney, who looked back to Kurt, who gave him a nod of approval. “Yeah,” said Kurt, looking back to Dr. Singh. “I’m ready.”

“Excellent!” said Dr. Singh, clapping his hands together, and rubbing them as though he were getting ready to do some manual task. “If you will follow me, please. We have much to discuss.” He turned and headed to his office, and Kurt went to follow him before he stopped and looked back at Courtney.

“Wish me luck,” he said.

Courtney nodded and smiled. “I love you, babe,” she said.

“I love you too,” said Kurt. As he turned back to follow Dr. Singh, he saw Dr. Chen, who he almost forgot was still in the room, start to lead Courtney away. He did a brisk little jog to catch up to Dr. Singh, who held open the door to his office for Kurt.

Dr. Singh’s office was as immaculate as his clothes and his beard, with a fully-stocked shelf of books behind his mahogany desk. On his desk he had an antique, green glass desk lamp beside an Apple computer, along with a few photos of his family and a carved statue of a white elephant with gold leaf adorning its tusks.

“Have a seat,” said Dr. Singh, and he gestured to an armchair sitting in front of his desk. Kurt took a seat, and sunk into the plush cushioning. As he let himself get comfortable, he looked around the walls, over diplomas from Oxford and abstract art to, weirdly, a framed drawing of Lucy Van Pelt at her psychiatric help booth, waiting for Charlie Brown.

“I’ve been spending the past two days doing a lot of research on you, Mr. Cobain,” said Dr. Singh as he took a seat at his desk. “I apologize for the possible impropriety on my part, but it’s not every day that I work with a patient that’s a public figure, and even rarer to work with one who’s known internationally.”

“Yeah?” asked Kurt. “And what kind of things have you heard about me?”

“Well,” said Dr. Singh, “most of what I’ve heard about you has come directly from the source.” He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a short stack of CDs. He spread them out across the desk, and Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest as he leaned forward in his seat for a better view. _ Bleach__,_ _ Nevermind_, _ In Utero _ and even _ Insecticide _ were all laid out before him.

“I’ve listened to each one at least once,” said Dr. Singh, “and while I admit this normally isn’t the type of music I listen to myself, I think you may have made me a fan of your work.”

“You want an autograph?” Kurt asked sarcastically.

Dr. Singh chuckled. “I am not star-struck, Mr. Cobain, I am merely impressed by your work with Nirvana.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt.

“Are you a Buddhist, perhaps?”

“Not really,” Kurt admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, there’s a lot there that’s very interesting to me, and I want Tibet free and all, not just because that’s a fashionable cause right now, but I don’t think I could really commit to one religion.” He glanced at Dr. Singh’s turban. “Are you… like, Muslim? Or Hindu?”

“I’m Sikh.”

“Oh,” said Kurt. “I don’t know as much about that.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t try and make a pun out of it,” said Dr. Singh with a chuckle. “Not that I mind puns, of course, but being told ‘oh, you’re Sikh? Then you should go see a doctor’ after the twentieth time, it’s not quite as funny.”

“Sounds like it,” said Kurt.

“Anyway,” said Dr. Singh, swiping the CDs on his desk aside, “I’d like to ask you some questions, Kurt, the first being… why are you here?”

Kurt looked off to the side, not sure how to answer. “You don’t already know that?”

“I only know the basics,” he said. “I’d like to hear it from you. I want _ you _ to tell me why you are here.”

Kurt went quiet for a moment. “Probably because I almost killed myself,” he answered.

“And why did you want to kill yourself?”

“Jesus… where to start...” Kurt was still sitting crouched on the chair like a gargoyle, and he brought his thumb to his lip, running the edge of his front teeth along the nail. “I think mostly I’m just tired, Doc. I thought becoming a big rock star would make life better for me but it hasn’t. I’m still in pain, I still shoot up, I still disappoint everybody I care about, I still hate myself, I feel like my life is falling apart and I’m scared of so much.”

“What are you scared of?”

Kurt’s lips trilled as he exhaled. “A lot,” he said. “What the press will say about me, my friends leaving me, divorce, turning into a useless junkie that everybody’s forgotten about, myself… I was ready to just end it.”

“But you didn’t,” said Dr. Singh. “Why didn’t you?”

“I missed.” Kurt swept his hair back over his damaged ear, showing off the gnarled, stitched flesh.

Dr. Singh didn’t say anything. His eyes were still on Kurt expectantly, as he typed with one hand on his computer. Kurt could feel his dark eyes boring into him, like he just knew that there was more that Kurt wasn’t saying.

“I… I was going to use a shotgun,” said Kurt. “I even shot up more junk than I ever had in my life, just as insurance in case I chickened out. I was so ready, I had the barrel in my mouth but then I just...” His voice caught in his throat. He bobbed his head slightly, like a cat about to cough up a hairball, trying to get it out of him, but his body was resisting. Finally, the words popped out in a single breath; “Something told me not to.”

“Something?” asked Dr. Singh.

“Some voice,” said Kurt. “Like this… this tiny little voice, telling me to keep going. For Frances. My daughter.”

Dr. Singh nodded in a way that seemed to gently nudge Kurt to keep going.

“It told me to ‘do it for her,’” he said. “And I took the gun out of my mouth. I had set it on my shoulder, and the tip of it… the tip was right next to my ear, and my finger slipped and then...” He curled his fingers into a fist, and then spread them out as to indicate an explosion, even making a gunshot noise with his mouth.

“That must have been a harrowing experience,” said Dr. Singh.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “I ended up passing out and when I woke up I thought I was dead, and then I thought I’d gone deaf.”

“So did you call an ambulance?”

“No… no, I called my best friend, Krist,” said Kurt. “He came over and drove me to the hospital, and now I’m here.”

Dr. Singh punched a few more keys on his computer keyboard, and then looked at Kurt. “So do you still have suicidal thoughts?” he asked.

Kurt fell back into his chair, his knees still propped up while he sank back into the back cushion. “I don’t want to have them anymore,” he said, “but at the same time… I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t kill myself.”

“What do you mean?”

Kurt covered his eyes with his hand, and sighed. “This is going to sound crazy if I tell you this. I told Courtney and she thinks this is stupid.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” said Dr. Singh. “I’m here to help. If something is genuinely a concern to you, I’d like to know, so that I may better do my job. And my job is to help you with your mental health.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward in his seat. “I never want you to feel afraid to tell me something.”

After taking a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth and wishing he had a cigarette in that very moment, Kurt steeled himself. “I had a premonition,” he said. “It was more than just a dream, it felt so _ real, _ scarily real, and in it I was told that if I didn’t die before my 28th birthday… something terrible could happen to my family and my friends.”

“I see,” said Dr. Singh. If he was skeptical, he didn’t show it on his face; he looked as though he were taking what Kurt had said with a deadly seriousness. “Do you believe this?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know!” said Kurt. He grabbed a fistful of his own hair, just holding it as if he was ready to yank it out by the roots. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe. I’m scared that this is all in my head, that I’m going crazy, but I’m also terrified that if I don’t listen, it’s going to come true, and it could have been prevented if I had just died like I was supposed to.”

“You feel as if you were… _ supposed _ to die, then?”

Kurt just nodded.

“Do you feel as though you are still in danger of hurting yourself?”

Again, Kurt nodded. “I don’t trust myself,” he said feebly. “I’m scared.”

“It’s alright, Kurt,” said Dr. Singh. “If you feel it necessary, we can admit you to an in-patient program. I think it is very clear to me, just from talking to you right now, that you could benefit from it greatly.”

“Please,” said Kurt. “I know Courtney wants me to just come home, and usually the last place I’d ever want to be is fucking rehab, but I just… I feel like I’m in over my head. I feel like I’m drowning in my own head.”

“Do not worry,” assured Dr. Singh. He stood up from his chair, walked around his desk, and put a hand on Kurt’s trembling shoulder. Kurt looked up at him with watery eyes, up at this bronze figure whose head was blocking out an overhead light in a way that made him look like he had a warm halo around his head. “I’m here to help you. We are all here to help you.”

Kurt choked out a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh but wasn’t quite a sob. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”


	7. Lucy Goosey

“You’re seriously doing this?”

“Yeah,” said Kurt, “and I really want to try this time and not run away again.”

“Babe, aren’t you worried about what people are going to think?” Courtney asked.

Kurt was sitting on the hospital bed in the room he’d been in for the past three days. Some people from Geffen were there, helping move out the multiple bouquets, flower arrangements, balloons and teddy bears; Kurt had told them to send the gifts to their house while he held onto the paper bag full of tapes, the Walkman, the notepad and the giant plush of Snoopy. He hoped that the people in the psychiatric wing would let him keep that stuff, at least.

“It’s not any of their business,” said Kurt, looking up to Courtney. “You can tell them I’m in rehab again if you want, whatever. I just want to stop caring about what the fucking tabloids think.”

Courtney sat down on the bed next to Kurt. “How long do you think you’re going to stay?”

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “Couple weeks, probably.”

“A couple weeks?” Courtney echoed.

“I’ll stay as long as it takes until I get better.” He took Courtney’s hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll still come and visit, right?”

“I will,” said Courtney. “I’m going to be busy for a while, with the new album out, but I’ll come and see you when I can.”

“Bring Frances. And make sure the cat’s taken care of, too.”

“Of course,” she said, and gave Kurt a quick kiss on the lips. “Take care of yourself, okay? I don’t want to come pick you up to go back home and you’ve been turned into a lobotomite.”

Kurt chuckled. “That might not be so bad. You wouldn’t have to worry about any arguments with me anymore.”

Courtney frowned. “Look, I… I really don’t want to get into all that right now, okay? We’ll talk when you get back out. Okay?”

Kurt gave a shaky nod. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Courtney craned her neck toward Kurt’s hanging head, and kissed his lips, more tenderly this time. “I love you.”

A smile spread over Kurt’s lips, and he lifted his head to meet Courtney’s gaze. “I love you too,” he said.

Their lips came together for one more kiss, and Kurt tucked his hand behind Courtney’s head, under her hair. He took a deep breath, his head getting floaty with the scent of her shampoo and deodorant and lip gloss, and nuzzled his head in the crook of her neck.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“I’ll miss you too,” said Courtney.

“Mr. Cobain?”

Kurt lifted his head, and there in the doorway, stepping out of the way of the men moving out the wilting flower arrangements, was Dr. Chen. She stood off to the side, his hands clasped, and offered the couple on the bed a beaming smile. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. He turned to Courtney, who gave him another quick kiss.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said softly.

Kurt let out an amused snort. “I’ll try my best.”

Courtney stood up and helped Kurt up to his feet, and he gathered his belongings in his arms. As he started to walk toward the doctor, he looked back over his shoulder at Courtney. Courtney gave him an encouraging nod, and Kurt smiled at her before he arrived at Dr. Chen’s side.

“Shall we?” Dr. Chen asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt with a nod. “Let’s go.”

Dr. Chen ushered Kurt out of the hospital room, and as they walked out into the hall, the two of them were flocked by a pair of nurses, and escorted him to his new, temporary home.

~

After a short walk across the campus, Dr. Chen led Kurt down the hall of another building and into a small, unmarked room. The room was almost completely empty, save for a table and two chairs.

“Before we get you settled,” said Dr. Chen, “I’d like to fill out some paperwork and ask you some questions.”

“Oh,” said Kurt. He set the stuff he was carrying down against the wall by the door, and sat down at the table. He looked around the room; the walls were bare, there was one window on the left-most side, and on the other side of the table that Dr. Chen was now sitting was a mounted video camera.

“We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few days,” said Dr. Chen, “but this is the last day you’ll be under my treatment. After this evaluation, you’ll be under Dr. Singh’s care.”

“You that eager to get rid of me?” asked Kurt.

“Oh, no, no,” said Dr. Chen, smiling and shaking her head. “It’s not that. I was just assigned to oversee your care during your mandatory 72-hour hold and treatment for your injury, and to help you review your options going forward.”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“It’s a little bittersweet, isn’t it?” said Dr. Chen. Kurt’s eyebrows arched in interest, and she continued. “I always get a little bit attached to every patient I have,” she clarified, “no matter who they are. I guess this is our last hurrah before I send you on your way.”

“I guess so,” said Kurt.

Dr. Chen turned on the video camera, and the little red recording light flicked on, indicating the camera’s inky black eye was watching. “If you could state your name and date of birth for our records, please?”

“Kurt Cobain, February 20th, 1967.”

“Good, good,” said Dr. Chen. She’d been carrying a clipboard with her, and she released the metal clip at the top, taking hold of a stack of papers and a pen. She slid them across the table to Kurt, and took another pen out of her front coat pocket.

“Please fill out the questionnaire as honestly as you can,” said Dr. Chen. “The majority of them are statements with a rating scale, with 1 being ‘strongly disagree’ and 5 being ‘strongly agree,’ for example.”

Kurt looked down at the questionnaire in front of him, and picked up the pen. He was sure he’d filled out forms like this multiple times with pediatricians and school psychologists, going as far back as using charts with smiley and frowny faces. As he went down the sheet, he found himself circling 5’s and 4’s. There were a variety of questions, but more than a few made him hesitate slightly when he reached them, feeling a sense of guilt for even admitting to them.

“I experience intense mood shifts with intense highs and lows.” Strongly agree. “I engage in behavior people say is self-destructive.” Strongly agree. “I feel like I am a burden to my friends and loved ones.” Agree. “Activities and hobbies that I used to enjoy no longer bring me pleasure.” Agree. “I use drugs or alcohol to self-medicate.” Strongly agree. “I struggle with drug or alcohol addiction.” Strongly agree. “I have thoughts about suicide.” Often. “I have previously attempted suicide.” More than once.

“I have experienced hallucinations without the use of drugs, or have experiences that others would describe as delusions.”

This one tripped up Kurt completely, as he stopped on the sheet, slipping the end of the pen into his mouth as he began to lightly chew on it. The options ranged from 1, “never” to 6, “almost every day.” He wondered if he should even mention the dreams he had that felt so vivid and real, with Buddy Holly’s premonitions of certain doom. Just that phrase alone was ridiculous; “Buddy Holly’s premonitions of doom.” Courtney had said he shouldn’t even bring them up for fear of Kurt being kept longer, but at the same time, he wanted to hear somebody assure him that it wasn’t anything to worry about, that it was the result of stress, that it wasn’t real, even though in the back of his mind, he feared it was. And this wasn’t even counting the voice in his head that urged him not to pull the trigger at the last minute. Faced with this decision, he circled 2 for “rarely,” and moved on.

Filling out the entire form, all fourteen pages of statements and questions, took about twenty minutes, but it felt longer, and after the form was completed, then came the verbal questions. Dr. Chen was as gentle and encouraging as she’d always been, easing out every single thing in Kurt’s life out of him like some sort of emotional enema. He talked about being put on Ritalin as a child, feeling like an alien, his parents’ divorce, being passed back and forth from house to house, telling everyone in high school he was gay, bullying kids, being bullied, sitting on train tracks waiting to die, drinking, smoking weed, escaping into music and art, discovering punk music, dropping out of high school, meeting Krist, and getting caught in the whirlwind that was Nirvana… it just gushed out of him like a disgusting spew, and he felt as tough Dr. Chen was figuratively holding back his hair as he vomited it all out. By the end of it, Kurt felt drained, wrung dry, and just let his head fall back against the chair, his body sprawled out and spent.

“I think we’re done here,” said Dr. Chen, turning off the camera. Kurt lifted his head, trying to sit up slightly. “You did very well, Kurt. I think you’re off to an excellent start.”

Kurt leaned forward, and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks,” he said. He glanced up at Dr. Chen, who had stood up from her chair and walked around the table up to Kurt. “… For everything,” he added.

“You’re very welcome,” said Dr. Chen. She held out her hand to Kurt, and he took hold of it, giving it a solid shake. What he didn’t expect, however, was for the small woman to wrap her other arm around the his back, and pull him in for a hug. She gave him a few pats, her hand holding onto the papers as they flapped against him, and she stepped back. “Good luck,” she said. Her face was radiating hope and kindness, like some precious stone caught in the sun, and Kurt felt a slow smile creep across his face. “I believe in you.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

The door to the room opened, and there was Dr. Singh, his tall frame taking up much of the negative space in the doorway. He flashed a bright, white smile at them both, and looked to Kurt.

“Ah, there you are!” he said, though it seemed obvious to Kurt that Dr. Singh would have known exactly where he was. “I see you’ve finished with Dr. Chen. Are you ready to go to your new room?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Kurt. He picked up his belongings off of the floor against the wall, and looked up to Dr. Singh. “Let’s go.”

Dr. Singh clapped a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, and as he lead him out of the room, Kurt took one last glance back at Dr. Chen, who waved goodbye with her fingers. Kurt nodded, and was lead to the psychiatric wing.

~

Kurt didn’t know what he was expecting, aside from something akin to _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _, but the common room of the psychiatric wing was occupied by people in bathrobes, pajamas and those standard-issue powder-blue patient uniforms. There were multiple couches gathered around a wall-mounted television set, all occupied by older patients, some wrapped in quilted blankets. A circle of armchairs with a low, round, cushioned table hosted more patients, reading books and magazines, and on the far side of the room was a table where even more patients were sitting as they chatted and drew on sheets of paper. The room was illuminated with both soft lights, different from the florescent lights of the main part of the hospital, as well as large glass windows that overlooked the grassy courtyard, and against those windows was a pair of men sat at a small table, playing chess. The tension usually associated with rehab seemed wholly absent, instead replaced with a genuine serenity. A few of the people at the drawing table lifted their heads to look at Kurt as he came in with Dr. Singh, but he was otherwise unacknowledged. There were a few orderlies standing off to the side by the wall, chatting casually with one another, but they straightened up at the sight of Dr. Singh, who just chuckled in response.

“Welcome to your new home away from home,” said Dr. Singh. “I think this floor should be just about right for you.”

“This floor?” Kurt asked.

“We have different floors suited to the needs of our patients,” said Dr. Singh. “This floor focuses on a more relaxed, rehabilitative environment for short-term patients like yourself, those who need help getting back on their feet so they can return to society better equipped to face the challenges of modern life.”

“So this is rehab?”

“Not strictly rehab for substance abuse,” said Dr. Singh. “There are many different reasons why patients come here, but they all have one thing in common, and that is that they are in need of a place free of the anxiety and stress that brought them to us.”

As they walked past the common room, a young man with long, black hair sitting at the drawing table turned his head and looked at Kurt. The man’s almond-shaped dark eyes met Kurt’s for a second, and he winked and stuck out his tongue at Kurt before turning back around to the table. Dr. Singh was rambling about the amenities of the facility, but Kurt had tuned him out, thinking about that guy who had just made a face at him. They’d reached an empty room, with an orderly smoothing out fresh sheets on a very ordinary-looking bed.

“Here we are,” said Dr. Singh. “This is your room. I’ll leave you to get settled in, as I have work to do, but we’ll be getting to know each other very well during your stay.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. The orderly slid past Kurt and the doctor, and Kurt looked around. No color aside from the window high on the far side of the room, just a bed, a chair, and a light in the ceiling, and of to the side, an open door leading to a toilet and a sink. “Kinda bare bones in here.”

“I know it looks a bit spartan now, dear boy, but I assure you that you’ll be allowed plenty of personal effects to help make the place look a bit more homely.”

“You mean ‘homely’ in the British sense,” said Kurt. “Like cozy. Not like ugly, like the American sense.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Dr. Singh. “You’ll have to pardon me, I’ve been in the states for almost five years, but you know what they say about old habits. I still frustrate my secretary with my spelling, the poor girl.” He let out a chuckle, and then checked his watch. “Well, I should be going. I’ll talk with you later, then, Mr. Cobain. See you soon!” He gave a slight bow as he slipped behind the door frame and back down the hall before Kurt could even turn around to bid him farewell.

Kurt let all of the things he had been carrying spill onto the bed, and then collapsed onto the bed, face first. He let out a deep sigh into his pillow, and one singular thought dominated his mind: _ now what? _

It was a strange feeling, as if he’d managed to pull himself out of a hole in the ground, wet and slick with mud and rainwater, clawing his way up grabbing hold of tiny roots and using stones as footholds until he reached the top, grabbing fistfuls of wet grass and crawling out on his belly only to roll over and look up at the sky and realize he was still lost, cold, soaked, hungry and not sure where to go. But hey, at least he had gotten out of that hole, right?

“Pssst. Hey.”

Kurt lifted his head and looked to the door, seeing the same young man who’d been at the drawing table. Kurt flipped onto his back and propped himself somewhat upright by his elbows. “What do you want?”

“You’re in Nirvana, right?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt with a sigh. “Why, you want an autograph?”

“Nah, I just wanted to make sure,” he said, stepping into Kurt’s room. “I mean, no offense, but I’m not really into grunge, you know? Not my thing. You wouldn’t happen to know Trent Reznor, would you?”

Kurt looked at the guy with half-lidded eyes. “Is that seriously what you wanted to talk to me about? Trent Reznor?”

“If not, that’s fine,” the man said with a shrug. “I’ve just been a Nine Inch Nails fan before they went mainstream, you know? Thought you two might have met.”

“No,” said Kurt. “No, I have not. I think I saw him once but we didn’t talk.”

“Aw, man,” the young man sat down in the chair opposite of the bed, and shook his head. “That’s a shame. I don’t know why, I thought maybe you could at least tell me some kind of story about him. I’m not, like, asking you to get me in contact with him or anything. Just a big fan.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” asked Kurt.

The man sat up, and tilted his head down slightly letting locks of hair fall over half of his face, and his face went cold and stern. “People know me by many names,” he said, his voice low and husky and dripping with melodrama, “but you may call me… _ Raven. _”

Kurt just looked at him blankly. “So you’re like a death rocker?”

“‘Death rocker,’ whoa, that sounds way more intimidating than ‘goth,’” said Raven, all the drama having dissipated. “I kinda like it. ‘Death rocker.’ I should start calling myself that from now on.”

“A death rocker is just a goth, but more punk rock,” said Kurt. “Like Christian Death.”

“Oh, okay,” said Raven. “Maybe I’m not a death rocker, then. I like a lot of industrial. You ever listen to Skinny Puppy? Or KMFDM?”

Despite himself, Kurt chuckled softly, and tried to hide his smile behind his hand. “I’m familiar with them,” he said.

“So you probably haven’t met those guys either,” sighed Raven. “Dammit.”

“Sorry I can’t hook you up with any backstage passes, dude,” said Kurt. “I’m just here to get my head checked.”

“Well, yeah, me too, obviously,” said Raven. “I’m just not made for a world filled with mundanes.” Again, his voice took a theatrical tone, and he gazed off into the distance.

“Mundanes?” Kurt asked.

“You know,” said Raven. “_Normal _ people. They don’t get me. My parents didn’t get me, my teachers didn’t get me, _ society _ doesn’t get me. I feel like a place like this, the other people here are the closest ones to possibly understand me.”

Kurt thought about this for a moment, before he gave a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can relate to that. That was basically just me growing up.”

“Yeah?” asked Raven. “You ever go back to your hometown and just rub it in their faces?”

“Not really,” said Kurt. “I don’t really like going back there.”

“Man, if I were you, I would,” said Raven. “I’d go up to all the guys that picked on me in school and just tell them to suck my dick _ and _ my balls.”

“And your balls?”

“_And _ my balls,” Raven repeated. “Just tell ‘em to suck on my _ fuckin’ _ rice balls.” He grabbed his own crotch and tugged on it for emphasis.

“Raven!”

Both Kurt and Raven jolted at the voice, and both looked to the doorway where a tall, muscular female orderly was standing, arms crossed, piercing eyes fixed right on Raven. “What did I tell you about bothering the other patients?” she asked.

“I’m not bothering anybody, I swear!” Raven stood up from the chair, raising both of his hands up. “We were just having a conversation, is all!”

The nurse ignored Raven, and looked to Kurt, pinning him down with her steely gaze.

“He’s fine,” said Kurt. “If he was bothering me, I would’ve told him to fuck off myself.”

The nurse’s nose crinkled in disgust, her lips drawn tight as though she’d tasted something extremely bitter. “You’re new,” the nurse said to Kurt. She pointed to Raven. “This boy… this boy is trouble. You be careful around him.”

Kurt and Raven exchanged glances. Kurt looked Raven over, evaluating him. Kurt looked back at the nurse. “I think I’ll be able to handle him,” he said wryly. Raven snickered.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said the nurse. “And so help me if you try anything funny.”

“I would never,” said Kurt, plashing a hand over his chest and feigning hurt.

“We’re good boys!” chirped Raven.

The nurse shook her head. She’d had a laundry cart in front of her, and went back to pushing it. “Trouble!” she shouted as she rolled the cart down the hall. “Nothin’ but trouble!”

Kurt leaned forward, craning his neck to listen for any further commentary from the nurse, and then looked back to Raven. “Seems like you got a bit of a reputation around here.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, the mundanes don’t know what to make of me.” Raven stood up from his chair. “But you… _ you _ show promise.”

“I’m honored,” said Kurt sardonically.

“You should be,” said Raven. “Not everyone gets the tour of this funny farm from the illustrious and notorious _ Raven Moon. _” He said his own name with the same overwrought dramatic flourish.

“Is that your real name?” asked Kurt.

“Of course it’s my real name,” said Raven, his arms now akimbo. “As opposed to what? A fake name?”

“Or a name you picked yourself.”

“If I picked it myself, then it’s a truer name than the one my parents gave me,” said Raven. “But the ‘Moon’ part, I kept that part from my parents. They got a good last name for a goth aesthetic.”

Kurt shrugged. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Raven stood at Kurt’s bedside, hands in his pockets and slouching. “So, uh… you wanna meet some of the regulars before you get your medicine and wind up all loosey-goosey?” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and wobbled as though he were drugged when he spoke those last few words.

“They really gonna start me off on stuff that strong?”

“Maybe,” said Raven. “You never know. Now, come with me, to a place we’ve come to call ‘The Island of Misfit Boys and Girls.’”

“Cute,” said Kurt. He straightened up his things, putting the bag of tapes under his bed, and sitting up Snoopy so that he was propped up against the wall. “Who came up with that name?”

“One of the other guys here, Lester,” said Raven. “Oh man, wait’ll you meet him. He’s a scream.”

Raven poked his head out in the hallway, looking side-to-side before stepping out. Kurt followed him as they walked back to the common room. Along the way, a large, nervous-looking man was headed in the opposite direction, being escorted by a much smaller orderly. The man shuffled as he walked, eyes locked on the ground until Raven and Kurt got close enough to catch his eye. The man’s head jerked up, and he let out a high-pitched squeal as he stretched out his arms, forming a cross with his index fingers as he backed against the wall, his eyes now fixed on Raven. Raven hissed at him like a cat, baring his teeth, and the orderly swore at him in Spanish, swatting at him with her hands. Raven giggled and ran down the hall, and Kurt ran to keep up with him.

At the very least, this would be an interesting stay.


	8. Members Only

As Kurt and Raven approached the drawing table, Raven announced their arrival, spreading his arms and saying in a bombastic voice, “Good afternoon, my fellow nutcases!” Two of the three people at the table looked up immediately, with the third, a young woman with red hair, had a slightly delayed reaction. “I have procured another member for our prestigious club.”

“Your mom is prestigious,” said a young man who sat on the far end of the table, spittle flying off his lips. He had the kind of face that made him look 13 and 30 at the same time, and he was sporting a buzzcut with a rat tail dangling off the back of his neck, and slung over his shoulder, as though he wanted to call attention to it. He went back to what he was drawing, hunched over as he scribbled with agitated fervor.

“Do you even know what ‘prestigious’ means?” asked a woman sitting opposite of rat-tail kid and next to the red-haired girl. She appeared to be the oldest of the group, with short, dark hair framing her face and sleepy-looking dark eyes. She looked to Raven. “Do _ you _ even know what it means?”

“Of course I know what it means, I’m not some kind of _ illiterate _,” Raven retorted. “It means high class and exclusive, you know, members only.”

“Yeah, members only,” echoed rat-tail kid.

“So access to Raven’s mom is high class,” said the sleepy-eyed girl. “Isn’t that the opposite of an insult?”

Rat-tail kid scowled. Sleepy-eyed girl responded with a lazy smirk, and the red-haired girl just looked between the two of them with confusion. Sleepy-eyed girl then caught red-haired girl’s eye, and made a series of rapid gestures with her hands that even a layman could recognize as sign language. Red-haired girl giggled and signed back briefly.

“Anyway,” said Raven, leaning onto the table with his hands laid out flat on its surface, “as I was saying, I brought a new member.” Kurt approached cautiously from behind Raven, still trying to read the group dynamic.

“Who, the lead singer of Nirvana?” said sleepy-eyed girl sarcastically.

“Funny you should say that!” said Raven, grinning like a maniac. “You wanna introduce yourself?”

“Hi, I’m Kurt,” Kurt finally spoke up. “I’m the lead singer of Nirvana.”

Sleepy-eyed girl stared at him for a moment, and looked him up and down. “Huh,” she said, “I guess you are. Small world.”

“This lovely ray of sunshine is Odette,” said Raven, gesturing to the sleepy-eyed girl. “And next to her is the enigmatic Valerie.” He gestured to the red-haired girl, who lifted up a hand to wave at Kurt, giving him a shy smile. Kurt responded in kind. “She can’t hear you, but she can tell if you’re saying mean things about her, so don’t do that.”

“He speaks from experience,” said Odette.

“And over there,” Raven gestured to rat-tail kid, “is Bayou Billy.”

“Stop calling me that,” Billy growled. “I ain’t even been to the Bye-you.”

“Hi, Billy,” said Kurt. He noticed that there were only two other chairs around the table, and Raven was already headed for the one on Odette’s other side, so Kurt took the remaining seat next to Billy. “What’s up?”

Billy looked up from his drawing and squinted at Kurt with distrust. “What do you want?”

Kurt shrugged. “To sit down, I guess,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”

Billy’s eyes darted back and forth between Raven and Kurt. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t say mean things about me either.”

“Fair enough,” said Kurt.

Valerie leaned to one side, pulling up something from off the ground. It was a miniature white board, and she rubbed at its surface with a stained cloth. She slid out a marker from a slot on its top, and quickly wrote on its surface, turning it around to face Kurt. “HELLO, MY NAME IS VALERIE_,”_ it said, “IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU.” She signed with one hand as she held up the white board. Odette signed back to her, and Kurt could only watch the two of them go back and forth. Valerie nodded after a bit, and wiped the board again before she wrote on it in thick, black letters for Kurt to see: “K U R T.” With one hand, she pointed to each letter, and with the other, she signed the letter. Kurt stared in confusion, but tried to give her a smile and a nod.

“She wants you to sign the letters back, dummy,” said Odette.

“Oh,” said Kurt, brushing his hair out from behind his ear to try and hide his injury as he looked away in embarrassment. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t realize--”

“Just sign back,” said Odette.

Kurt looked back to Valerie, and carefully copied Valerie’s gestures for each letter, then again, and then a third time unprompted. K-U-R-T. Two fingers in a peace sign with a thumb in between, a sort-of two-fingered scout salute with a bent ring finger, crossed fingers with a thumb touching the ring finger, and a closed fist with the thumb on the outside, all fired off in rapid succession. Valerie nodded with excitement, wiggling with glee in her chair as she signed frantically to Odette. Odette gave a short response, and Valerie wrote on the white board again. “GOOD JOB!!” it said, with a little curve beneath the periods in the exclamation points to make it look like a smiley face.

“I think you got it faster than me,” said Raven. “I’ve been here like, almost two weeks, we were just writing back and forth to each other before Odette showed up.”

“I think Val likes you,” said Odette with a smirk, resting her cheek on her hand.

Kurt held up his left hand, the one he’d just been signing with, and showed off his wedding band. “I’m sorry, Val,” he said. “I’m taken.”

Valerie gave a dramatic huff, and pouted as she crossed her arms. Odette held a fist to her chest, and made a small circle motion over it. Raven sighed.

“Shiny, new toy comes in, she wants it,” he said.

Before Kurt could even question Raven’s comment, Billy spoke up. “But only if it’s shiny.”

Kurt’s eyes wandered toward the sheet of paper in front of Billy. Upon it was a drawing of a dragon with the rough proportions of a human woman, complete with beach ball breasts and a fat ass, both of which were sticking out prominently from her supermodel thin figure. The perspective was warped slightly, giving an odd, uncanny valley effect, along with a number of slight mistakes that added up to make the drawing look off. Billy was too busy working on giving her detailed scales with the mechanical precision of a factory worker.

“Nice titty dragon,” said Kurt.

Billy snorted, and side-eyed Kurt. “You making fun of me?”

“No,” said Kurt. “I am kind of curious why a dragon, though.”

Raven chuckled, and Billy sneered at him before looking back to Kurt. “A dragoness is way sexier than any actual human woman,” he explained, as though he was stating an obvious fact. “Imagine if you had a girlfriend and she was ten feet tall with razor-sharp claws, gigantic wings, horns, and she could breathe _ fire. _”

Kurt conjured up a mental image of Courtney as a giant, fire-breathing dragon woman. It was a bit much, though conceptually, there was something to the idea of an Amazonian woman who struck terror into the hearts of men. As he thought about this, he gave a slow nod. “I can kinda see the appeal of something like that,” he said.

“Seriously?” asked Raven. “A dragon?”

“Not the dragon part, really,” said Kurt. “More like the idea of having a big, strong partner to protect you and make you feel safe.”

“Then why not just date a dude?” Raven asked in a snarky tone.

Kurt paused a moment. “The thought has crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“That’s gay,” said Billy, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“You’re the guy that wants to fuck a fictional flying lizard, you don’t have room to talk,” said Odette.

“SHUT UP!” Billy snapped, and pounded his fist on the table, causing it to jilt and rattle. The other patients in the room looked at Billy, and fell silent. A few of the orderlies stepped forward, and Billy hunched over meekly, muttering swears under his breath.

Kurt felt an urge to prod further, as gently as possible. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” he said.

Billy grunted. “Yeah, well, I’m not, so don’t call me gay.”

“Nobody called you gay,” said Kurt. “You called _ me _ gay.”

“Yeah, well, what you said was pretty gay,” said Billy.

“So?” asked Kurt.

“Yeah, so?” Raven chimed in. “What’s wrong with a dude wanting to suck another dude’s dick? This is America, goddammit, everybody should be free to suck dicks in peace!”

“I don’t wanna hear about it,” Billy growled. “It’s gross.”

“So’s fucking a reptile,” said Odette. “Good way to get salmonella.”

Billy stood to his feet and slammed his fists on the table, harder than before, and started screeching like an angry ape. Immediately, the orderlies that had been standing by swooped in, grabbing a hold of his arms, and pulling him back from the table. Kurt sat frozen, looking around him. All the other patients were just watching all of this unfold as Billy squirmed and squealed in the orderlies grip.

“LET ME GO!” Billy shrieked. “SHE WON’T STOP IT!”

“Billy,” said one of the orderlies, a chubby man with arms like ham hocks, “we’ve been over this. You need to take some deep breaths and calm down, right now, or you’re going back to your room.”

The fight went out of Billy, and he fell limp in the arms of the two men holding him back. He sniffled. “You guys always take her side, just ‘cause she c-c-cut herself...”

Kurt turned his head to look at Odette, who was unconsciously tugging at the hem of her sleeve as she glared at Billy.

“Billy,” said the other orderly, a square-jawed man with a buzz cut, “who is in charge of the way you react?”

“… Me,” said Billy meekly.

“That’s right,” said square-jaw. “Now take a few deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“In through the nose,” said Billy, taking a deep whiff of air, “and out through the mouth,” he breathed out the words in a breathless string. He repeated this mantra several times, inhaling and exhaling until he went quiet. The two orderlies set him back on his feet.

“You need to go back to your room?” asked square-jaw.

“Y-yeah,” said Billy. “I think I do.” He grabbed his drawing and a handful of crayons, and looked at Kurt. “It’s fine if _ you’re _ gay,” he said, “but _ I’m _ not. Don’t… please don’t call me gay, okay?”

Kurt shrugged. “Okay,” he replied. He thought about adding that he was not gay either, that he was attracted to women, but decided against it. Besides, he thought, he was pretty much half-gay anyway. Part gay. He’d figure it out eventually.

As Billy was led back to his room, the rest of the patients resumed their previous activities, and the atmosphere turned calm again. Kurt still felt uneasy, however, and he scooted his chair closer towards the end where Odette and Valerie sat. “What’s the deal with Billy?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“I dunno,” said Raven. “I thought he was retarded at first, but I don’t think he is.”

After quickly signing back and forth with Valerie, Odette offered her own answer. “He’s socially maladjusted,” said Odette, still signing. “He’s got the emotional maturity of a small child but he’s 26 years old.”

“He’s 26?” asked Kurt. “He doesn’t look like it.”

Valerie puffed out her cheeks and held out her hands as though she were holding an invisible beach ball. Odette smirked. “He’s got that baby fat around his face,” said Odette, making a circle around the lower half of her own face. “That and the way he acts makes him come across like he’s much younger.”

“His brother’s even worse,” said Raven, grabbing a blank sheet of paper and a black magic marker. “That dude’s almost feral.”

“His brother? Is he here?” Kurt asked.

“Not on this floor,” said Raven. “He’s on the lower floor, with the real crazies. I haven’t seen him, I’ve just heard stories. I know they’re identical twins, though.”

“Do they both have those rat-tails?” Kurt asked with a smirk.

Raven snorted as he tried to hold back his laughter. He shook his head. “I have no idea,” said Raven. “I don’t think he does. Like I said, I haven’t seen him.”

“And Billy doesn’t like talking about what happened,” said Odette. “Asking people about why they’re here goes against the etiquette.”

“So does bringing it up outside of group therapy,” said Raven.

Kurt looked back to Odette, who looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her as she cleared her throat. For the first time, Kurt noticed what she’d been drawing, which was a landscape of a churchyard’s cemetery. It was rendered in delicate swirls of purples, blacks and blues, mixing crayon and marker, resulting in a dream-like and suitably gothic atmosphere. Odette noticed Kurt craning his neck to get a better view. “It’s not finished yet,” she said. “I’m better with paints, but they only let us paint on Wednesdays...”

“Can I see it?”

Odette spun her drawing around and slid it across the table in front of Kurt. “Not my best work,” she said.

“I like the angel statue,” said Kurt, indicating the figure on the far left side of the drawing, which was mostly black, but was highlighted in neon purple and sky blue ink. “It’s really good.”

Odette smiled just a bit. “Thanks,” she said. “I majored in Illustration and was working freelance before… you know, everything that happened, happened.”

Kurt turned the drawing back around and slid it back in front of Odette. She took it back, and resumed her work on the piece. Kurt found himself unsure what to say, and stared down at his folded hands on the table’s surface. Everyone else at the table was quiet again, all three working on drawings. Kurt grabbed a piece of paper for himself, and a black crayon from an open box. Even in this more relaxed environment, there weren’t any sharp writing utensils like pens or pencils. He stared at the blank paper in front of him, tapping the butt of the crayon on top of it as he tried to conjure up something to draw. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Francis. Birds. Buddy Holly’s shattered head. Courtney. Big Bopper’s howls. Krist. The blast of a shotgun. It was all bubbling up inside of him, like a shaken-up soda bottle, and he needed to twist the cap just slightly to release the pressure.

“I’m here because I tried to kill myself,” he said.

Odette and Raven looked up at Kurt, followed by Valerie. Each of their expressions differed from one another; Raven’s face turned to a mixture of surprise and discomfort, Odette radiated sympathy, and Valerie just looked confused, but intensely interested as she laser-focused on Kurt’s face with her doe-like eyes.

“Why?” asked Raven, seemingly all he could say in response.

“There’s a lot of reasons,” said Kurt. “But I just didn’t feel like I could keep going on living anymore. I just... wanted to die.” He unconsciously brushed his hair back over his injured ear.

Valerie looked over at Odette, and held a finger gun to her head with a cocked thumb, then pulled her thumb back down. Odette nodded. Valerie looked back to Kurt, her eyes bleary, as though she’d witnessed the death of a small animal.

“But… you made it,” said Raven. “You’re rich, you’re famous, the whole world knows your music, you’ve got a wife and kids...”

“Just one kid,” said Kurt.

“Okay, you got _ a _ kid…” Raven corrected himself, “you’re this huge rock star. You can pretty much do whatever you want. So why would you throw that all away?”

“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” said Kurt. “There’s just something wrong with me. That’s why I’m here.”

“Sorry,” said Raven sheepishly. “I just… I just don’t get it, you know?”

Kurt just shrugged.

Raven shrunk back in his seat slightly before he started working on a piece of paper with a few thick, black marker lines on it. Kurt stared back at his own piece of paper, and tapped the crayon again. He wanted to put it in his mouth and chew it; he hadn’t had a cigarette in far too long and his whole body itched for a quick nicotine fix. Instead of drawing, he wrote a snippet of what could be a song.

_ And the birds are screaming _ _  
_ _ They won’t stop screaming _ _  
_ _ And the sky is teeming _ _  
_ _ With sparrows, crows and robins _

He stared at what he wrote. Was that the right “teeming?” or was it “teaming?” He supposed it didn’t really matter.

_ Woke up to Mork and Mindy on TV _ _  
_ _ I stare at them, they see through me _ _  
_ _ We interrupt this broadcast with a word _  
_The sky’s gone black with a billion birds_

Needs work, Kurt thought. He’d have plenty of time to fix it later. He was about to continue when Valerie stood up from her chair and pushed a piece of paper across the table, right into his field of view. He was immediately taken aback by what was drawn on it.

It was… him. Valerie had drawn a portrait of him, though it wasn’t the scruffy, ugly, unwashed scarecrow version of himself he was used to seeing staring back at him in the mirror. Though drawn with a thick marker, the lines forming his face were delicate, lithe, graceful. The hair billowed from a gentle breeze from behind him, framing his face like a halo. But most striking were the way she drew his eyes; clear ocean blue standing out on white paper with black ink lines. Instead of looking sleepy, as he looked when he was in the bathroom of his last hospital room, they radiated both sadness and… hope? The drawing’s gaze was turned upward, looking at Kurt, as though it were beseeching him, and evoking the same feeling of those pictures of Jesus old Catholic ladies would have in their homes, with Jesus kneeling against a rock and praying in front of a flock of sheep, as a heavenly ray of sunshine kissed his face with a golden glow.

Kurt looked back up to see Valerie beaming at him, eagerly awaiting his verdict. “You made me look really good,” he said, nodding vigorously. He gave her a thumbs up smiled. “Thank you.”

Valerie cupped her face in her hands, and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, absolutely giddy. She held up her right hand, with her left hand perpendicular it it, both hands making peace signs, and she brought down her right hand onto her left, and pushed both outwards.

“She wants you to keep it,” said Odette. 

“Oh, wow,” said Kurt. He pulled the drawing closer to him, covering what he was writing, and he looked back up to Valerie. “I’ll keep it,” he said.

Valerie let out a discordant, high-pitched squeal before she sat back down. She wriggled in her seat, and signed back and forth with Odette.

Kurt looked to Raven, who was looking back at him, seemingly impressed. “It took me a couple days for her to draw me,” Raven said. “She doesn’t even know who you are and she’s already flirting with you.” He let out a half-hearted chuckle.

“Jealous?” asked Odette in a smarmy voice.

“No,” said Raven, hunching over his drawing. “It’s fine. I’m good.”

Kurt looked between Raven and Valerie. She averted her eyes from Raven, looking down at her lap before she looked back up at Kurt, and beamed at him. Kurt smiled politely, and set her drawing aside next to his own paper, and started doodling. The table had gone quiet again, allowing Kurt to retreat back inward into his own head. He’d drawn another crude Buddy Holly with his head attached to the body of a cricket, complete with Frankenstein stitches and neck bolts. 

“Pssst,” hissed Raven. “Look behind you, real quick.”

Kurt cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, and noticed a very familiar old man in a wheelchair with stitches running down the side of his face. Kurt quickly turned back around before the old man noticed him.

“I saw that guy earlier,” Kurt whispered. "Mr. Barnes, think."

Raven’s eyes widened in surprise. “You did?”

“He asked me to suck his dick yesterday.”

Raven put a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to stifle his laughter. He doubled over, squeezing his eyes shut as he pounded his fist on his knee, letting out a few muffled giggles.

“Holy shit,” said Raven, after he calmed down slightly. “That’s Lester, dude.”

“Oh god, are you serious?” asked Kurt, trying to keep his voice down.

“You’re not the only one he’s tried that on, either,” said Raven. “He tried that on me, I just started screaming ‘rape, rape!’ until one of the nurses wheeled him off while he yelled at me and called me a gook.”

“Jesus,” Kurt muttered. “That’s awful.”

Raven waved dismissively, letting out a “pssh” noise. “It’s fine. I can handle it. Besides, he’s just a rotten old senile geezer who probably got brain damage from The War. He still thinks I’m Japanese, even though I keep telling him I’M KOREAN.” He raised his voice speaking those last two words and leaned to the side so that he could see Lester, staring at him directly. Lester scowled back at him, and wheeled himself forward to distance himself from Raven, maintaining eye contact with him. Raven stuck out his tongue and held up his nose with his thumb as he wiggled his fingers until Lester wheeled out of their line of sight, but not before Lester let out a contemptuous “FAGGOT!”

Kurt let out a nervous laugh, though it petered out quickly.

“He’s harmless,” Raven assured him. “Trust me, you stick with me and mine, you’ll be fine.”

Kurt looked to Odette, who just sighed and shook her head. As he turned to look back to Raven, he saw a pair of orderlies, the same ones that had escorted Billy away, approach Raven from behind. Raven looked behind him to see what Kurt was staring at, and looked up at the two men who were now directly behind him.

“What?” Raven asked, feigning innocence.

“Do you need to spend some time alone?” asked the chubby man.

“I’m being good,” Raven protested. “Just talking with my new friend here.” He gestured to Kurt, who waved at the two men.

The chubby man glowered. “We don’t need any more outbursts out of you,” he said, jabbing a sausage finger at Raven. “You understand, right?”

“Relax, big guy, I’m fine,” said Raven. “We’re cool.”

Chubby exchanged glances with square-jaw, who just gave a nod to his partner. “Alright,” said chubby. He turned to leave, and square-jaw looked at Raven.

“No more pushing people’s buttons,” he said firmly. “Or else.”

“Fine, okay, Jesus,” said Raven. The two orderlies walked away, and Raven turned back around to Kurt. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Those two guys are always on my ass.”

“Are they always like that?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah, pretty much,” said Raven. “I think one of them used to be a prison guard. Don’t know for sure, but both of them act like this is a prison.”

Kurt went quiet. As bright and sunny as the room was, suddenly it felt cold, sterile, like a cage. He noticed just how many people were in scrubs, standing against walls, chatting amongst each other, but always keeping a watchful eye. Kurt scanned the room, and saw chubby and square jaw, talking casually, and square-jaw turned his head and locked eyes from Kurt. His face turned stony, and his steely eyes seemed to pierce Kurt like bullets.

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He picked up the papers in front of him, and looked to the other three, who were still seated. “Sorry,” he said, “I, uh… I gotta go.” He then left, walking briskly back to the hall where the rooms were until he found his. He went inside and shut the door behind him, and out of habit went to try and lock it, only to find that there was no lock. Of course there wasn’t, he thought. He took a deep breath, and slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the floor.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was just prolonging the inevitable, and he really was going to die before his 28th birthday and all this did was buy him a few extra months. Why would this be any different from all the times he went to rehab before this?

He held up the papers still in his hand, and shuffled them until the drawing that Valerie had done for him was on top. He’d received artwork from fans before in letters, but Valerie wasn’t a fan. She was just a girl, a patient here just like he was, and she drew him the way a fantasy illustrator might draw an elf or a unicorn or something. He allowed himself a smile, and wondered if maybe he’d be able to see whatever it was Valerie had seen in him to draw him like this, though he also feared that if she got to know him better, she’d see the truth and know that he was just another selfish asshole.

He got back up to grab a hold of the notepad he brought with him, and tucked the papers under the leaves of yellow paper, then placed the notepad under his bed. He flopped onto the bed, next to the giant stuffed Snoopy, and stared at the ceiling.

All he could do was just hope that he had made the right choice.


	9. Ring Around the Rosie

Smoke swirled around Kurt’s head like a halo, as he exhaled through puckered lips and let out a few gentle coughs from the pit of his lungs. He passed the glass pipe in his hand over to Courtney, who was lying beside him on her stomach, completely nude, with her legs up in the air behind her, swinging idly back and forth.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she looked back at him.

“Little bit,” said Kurt as she took the pipe from him.

Courtney put the pipe to her red lips, and inhaled deeply. She held it in for a few seconds before she let the smoke back out as though it were just air. “A friend with weed is all you need,” she said.

Kurt smiled, and reached out to caress Courtney’s thigh, running his hand up to her ass. “It’s a good start,” he said.

She gave him a sly little smirk. “See,” she said, “you’re better already.”

Kurt sank back against the pile of pillows that propped him up, and sighed in content. Their bedroom was lit only by the TV, and the room was filled with the sound of George Harrison playing sitar on “Norwegian Wood.” Life was good. The fog of depression had lifted; everything was clear.

He was cured.

Courtney lifted herself up from the bed, and turned to Kurt, crawling towards him on all fours across the mattress. Kurt grinned, and as her face got closer to his own, and she brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. She kissed his lips gently, and straddled him on the bed as she brought the pipe back to her lips. She inhaled from it deeply, and held it in as she went to kiss Kurt again, breathing out a plume of smoke into his open mouth as he sucked it in. As she pulled back, he coughed and pounded his chest with his fist, as Courtney gave him a flirty little smirk. Kurt sniffled, and looked at her with a puppy-like adoration. The TV behind her caused the edges of her hair to glow. She looked like an angel. Both of them moved in together with open mouths, kissing each other deeply. Kurt ran his fingers through her hair, and moaned against her as her hot skin pressed against his. He felt as though he was melting into the pillows and the mattress into a happy ice cream puddle, sticky and sweet. She set the pipe down on the nightstand, and he brought his hands up to her back to pull her in closer. His head felt floaty and his groin felt a surge of pleasure, and his heart was beating against her breast. He rolled her over onto her back, kissing her neck, her breasts, and her stomach with feverish reverence, but then stopped. Something didn’t feel right. He looked back up to Courtney, and froze as his eyes met not with the eyes of his wife, but eyes behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on a very young, male head with curly hair, attached to her body.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Kurt,” said Buddy.

Kurt sat up with a start. “What the fuck?” he said. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” said Buddy, grabbing a pillow to cover the naked breasts attached to him. “I’m tryin’ to warn you.”

“Fuck you,” said Kurt.

“Well, you sure were fixin’ to,” said Buddy, wrapping Courtney’s legs around the pillow to hug it closer to her chest (_not his chest, _ Kurt thought, _ that was not _ his _ body _). “Have you given what I told you any more thought?”

“I don’t even know if you’re real!” said Kurt, exasperated, as he grabbed fist-fulls of his own hair by the scalp. “How am I even supposed to know if you’re a ghost or if you’re just… I don’t know, some kind of manifestation of my self-loathing or something? Like, what if you’re just my feelings of depression telling me I’d be better off dead and this is me trying to justify suicide to myself based on some vague threat?”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” said Buddy.

“The fuck I am!” yelled Kurt. “This is all a dream, anyway, why shouldn’t I overthink this?”

Buddy sighed. “Well, of course it’s a dream,” he said, adjusting Courtney’s legs so that they were resting on the bed, crossed at the ankles. “You think I’d be able to talk to you while you’re awake?”

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “I don’t know how you work. I don’t know how any of this works. Why do I have to talk to _ you, _ anyway? Why can’t I talk to John Lennon? Or River?”

“River?” Buddy asked.

“River Phoenix,” Kurt explained. “He was a friend of mine… he was an actor. He died of an overdose last year. I’d rather see him again than have to talk to you and have to put up with even more guilt. I feel guilty for being alive, and now I got you making me feel guilty for not being dead. So thanks for that.” Kurt scooted to the edge of the bed, letting his legs hang over it, and hunched forward as he sat. Buddy was quiet now, thank god, but his entire mood was ruined.

“I’m sorry,” Buddy finally said. “Look… my intention isn’t to just give you a hard time for no reason. You’re a lost soul just like I am. I’m tryin’ to help you from being stuck in limbo like I’ve done, just repeating the same mistakes over and over and over again, tryin’ to fix your mistakes to get another chance at life, only to live and end up making things worse for everybody else.”

Buddy, still clutching the pillow to Courtney’s chest, crawled across the bed and sat just behind Kurt. “You know what happened the first time I tried to change my fate, and avoid gettin’ on that dang ole’ plane? I rode a bus while my buddy Waylon Jennings went on the plane in my place. I had to hear about him dying in a plane crash in the middle of a field, and it ruined my life. Well, the rest of _ that _ life, anyway.”

Kurt lifted his head and looked back at Buddy, and stared at him. “How… how does that work?” he asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Buddy. “But sometimes, when you’re dead, instead of moving onto Heaven or Hell, you’re just in limbo, and you just wanna try again from the moment before it all went wrong, and go back to that fateful moment and try again… and if you’re able to concentrate hard enough, you _ can _ try again… and when you go back to that moment, you can’t even remember that you died, instead you just feel like something is _ wrong, _ somehow, and you feel obligated to make a different choice than the one you made… like you got your own Jiminy Cricket on your shoulder, whispering in your ear to turn back around.”

Kurt felt a cold pit form in his stomach. This was all sounding uncomfortably familiar. 

“And then when you die in a car crash in 1978 or from a stroke in 1996 or from some Chinese virus in 2020, you always wanna go back to that one point and try again. You’ll try and get it right this time, so that you don’t let your pals die instead of you, or you don’t become an alcoholic has-been that nobody remembers, or you don’t get a venereal disease and slowly waste away… but every time you go back, it’s always to that same moment, the moment right before you’re doomed. You can live a hundred different lifetimes but in the end, you’ll always come back to the same place. You’ll be stuck, just like the rest of us.”

“So then why don’t you just do it again and go back on the plane, then?” Kurt snapped. “Why the fuck are you bothering me?”

Buddy hung his head and sighed. “I don’t think I’m able to move on,” said Buddy. “I’ve tried too many times. I’m stuck. And if you don’t die before your 28th birthday… chances are, you will be too.”

Kurt looked at Buddy with a furrowed brow, his face twisted in obvious disgust at the form Buddy had taken. “No offense,” said Kurt, “but this sounds like bullshit.”

“But you’ve heard that little voice, haven’t you?” asked Buddy.

Kurt grit his teeth. “And what if I have?” he asked. “How does that prove anything? This could all just be a stupid dream.”

“I suppose it could be, as far as you know,” said Buddy. “But you’ll start noticing things. You’ll start feeling a lot of the ole _ d__éjà vu _ more than usual, gut feelings about things you can’t really explain… it’ll haunt you, Kurt.”

“I’m already being haunted,” said Kurt flatly, “by a dude whose head is on my wife’s body. So thanks for that.”

“Yeah, this did… well, it didn’t exactly go the way I was hoping it would,” said Buddy, holding out an arm and examining it as he wiggled his fingers. “This is what happens when you try and go rushin’ things; you end up just making a big ole’ mess.”

“I swear to God, if you do that thing where your brains start leaking out while your head is on Courtney’s body, I’m calling an exorcist or the fucking Ghostbusters.”

“What’s a Ghostbuster?”

“Oh, do you not know about Ghostbusters?” Kurt asked. “What’s the matter? You’ve lived some lives where you died after that movie came out, right? Same for Star Trek. Or do they just not exist in all those timelines you’ve been hopping around?” _ Gotcha, _ Kurt thought. Of course there would be logical holes in Buddy’s narrative, because this was all just a dream. None of this was real, and Buddy Holly was just his subconscious trying to sabotage his efforts to not be a fuck-up.

Buddy’s expression turned to a mix of confusion, hurt, and sadness, his eyes darting across the floor as though he was looking for something, and he squeezed the pillow tighter to his chest. “L-Look here,” he stammered, obviously uncomfortable, “you live so many times, it’s hard to remember all the things that change… and things can change a lot from one timeline to another...”

“Just leave me alone,” Kurt grumbled. “Just go away.”

“Well, fine then,” said Buddy. He stood up from the bed, and backed against the wall, still holding the pillow in front of him. “I’ll leave you be, then. But don’t say I didn’t try and warn you.”

“Uh-huh,” Kurt said dismissively. “Whatever. You can go now.”

On the other side of the room, the bedroom door shook and rattled as someone on the other side pounded on it. Both Kurt and Buddy looked to the door frozen.

“Aw, hell,” Buddy muttered. “Not him again.”

“HELL-OOOOOOO!” a deep, distinctive bass voice bellowed from the other side, and the pounded on the door again. “C’mon, baby baby, please let me in, I just wanna talk to ya!”

“Get lost, ya damn fool!” Buddy hollered. “All you do is cause nothin’ but trouble, Bopper!”

“Aw, c’mon now, Buddy, I just wanna help a fella out,” said the Big Bopper. “Just open the door and let me in!”

Kurt stood up from the bed. “H-hey!” shouted Buddy, “I know you’re mad at me and all, but you don’t wanna encourage him.”

“Why not?” Kurt asked as he started walking towards the door. “Afraid he might actually wanna help me?”

“Listen, you’re making a big mistake,” shouted Buddy after Kurt. “He might mean well, but he’s lost his marbles. You follow him, you’re gonna doom yourself to the same purgatory we all fell into!”

“Yeah, well, he’s offering me something that you haven’t given me,” said Kurt as he stopped in front of the door.

“And what’s that?”

Kurt turned back to look at Buddy and gave him a cocky smirk. “Hope,” he said, and he grabbed hold of the knob and turned it.

~

The loud pounding on the door faded into a soft rapping as Kurt opened one eye. “Hell-oooo!” a voice called out as Kurt flipped himself over in his bed and onto his back, squinting at the nurse standing in the doorway to his room. “Rise and shine!” she said in a sing-songy voice. “It’s almost 9 AM, you should be up by now.”

He sat up, blinking and squinting in the bright light bleeding into his room from the tiny window above his head. He wasn’t home, he was still in the hospital after his first night in the psychiatric wing. At one point in the night he’d been woken up by someone crying in the next room over, but otherwise not much had happened so far of note.

“Sleep well?” the nurse asked as she approached him. Kurt just nodded with a grunt. She handed him a pamphlet, and as his eyes adjusted, he noticed it was a menu. He opened the pamphlet and looked it over.

“So, we’re serving breakfast now,” she said as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You have a couple of options, just pick something out and we’ll bring it to you with your medication. Oh, and you have a group therapy session scheduled at 11 with Dr. Singh and a few other patients.”

“Thanks,” Kurt mumbled. “I’ll have the French toast, I guess.”

“You want bacon and eggs with your French toast?”

“I’ll take the eggs, no bacon. Hash browns would be fine. And a glass of milk.”

“Sure thing, honey,” said the nurse, “you just stay put for now, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kurt. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked back up to see the nurse had already left. He made a mental note to talk to somebody about it, but he didn’t want to bring it up in group therapy. It felt too personal. But he had to talk with somebody about this.

He’d figure it out later, he thought as he got up from the bed. As he stretched his arms over his head, he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked away near the door, just inside his room. He walked over to it, and knelt down to pick it up. He unfolded it, and read the message written inside with flowing text:

_ Your heart is bursting with secrets _ _  
_ _ Let me inside _  
And I can share them with you

Kurt stared at the note, taking it in. He thought back to what Raven had said about shiny new toys. He folded the note closed again, and stood up, folding it over a few more times until it fit into the breast pocket on his pajamas, right over his heart.

~

“Good morning, everyone!” said Dr. Singh to the circle of patients sitting around him, speaking as though he were on a stage. “And how is everyone feeling today?”

“LIKE SHIT!” a woman shouted, her arms and legs crossed. A few people laughed.

“And why is that?” asked Dr. Singh, seemingly unfazed by her outburst.

“You know why,” she said with indignation. She scratched the back of her head, causing her messy, stringy bun to wiggle. “I am here, against my will, by the way, by order of the State until they see fit to have me released among the general public, the so-called ‘respectable’ people. Until then, I am compelled to participate in these inane exercises until I can meet your requirements for what makes a functional, productive member of society.”

“Well, duh,” said Odette, who was sitting by her. “That literally describes most of us. What makes you so friggin’ special?”

“She’s got a bigger vocabulary,” said Raven, who was seated next to Kurt. This received more laughter.

Dr. Singh held out his hands and gestured for the group to settle down. “Now, now, Maxine” he said to the woman, who was still pouting, “I understand you are frustrated by your current circumstances, but you are here for your benefit. You are still only starting your journey to healing, so it is understandable that you may feel some resentment, but this is not just the Maxine Hour, here. This is group therapy, where we discuss all of our issues, as a group.”

Maxine snorted, and sulked in her chair.

“Besides,” said Dr. Singh, “we have a new member of our group joining us this morning.” He gestured to Kurt. “Please, introduce yourself, and perhaps you’d like to share three fun facts about yourself?”

Kurt looked around the circle. Raven and Odette were there, of course, and so were Billy and Valerie, the latter of whom had a nurse sitting next to her acting as an interpreter, though Valerie hardly even glanced at her. In addition to Maxine, there were three other patients, all new to Kurt; a tall, black woman with a meticulously maintained weave who looked as though she were vogueing to some unseen camera; a short, stout balding man with large, thick glasses, and the large, nervous man from yesterday who had screeched at Raven and now sat directly across from him, not taking his eyes off of Raven. Kurt cleared his throat.

“Hi, my name is Kurt,” he said, trying to sound polite. “I’m 27 years old, I like cats and turtles, and I like to make music and paint.”

“Hello, Kurt,” the patients all said in unison; Valerie even signed it as Dr. Singh nodded in approval. Maxine was the only one that remained silent.

“Hi,” Kurt replied. Raven snickered.

“So are we just supposed to pretend none of us know who this guy is?” asked Maxine. 

“Now, Maxine,” said Dr. Singh, “even if you know who he is, while he’s here, he’s just another patient, just like everyone else. It doesn’t matter if he were a TV star, or a famous author, or--”

“Or a rock star,” said Raven slyly.

“--Or a rock star,” continued Dr. Singh, “none of that matters here. We are all human beings speaking to one another, each one special and unique and equal to one another.”

“Doesn’t your religion have a literal caste system?” asked Maxine. “Also, you’re the doctor here, so you’d be the authority above us by default--”

“Maxine,” said Dr. Singh sharply, raising the volume of his voice. He took a deep breath, and continued. “Maxine,” he said again, gently now, “We have an hour to do this each day. You don’t want to waste everyone else’s time on such trivial matters, do you?”

“I don’t care either way,” Maxine scoffed. “I don’t wanna be here to begin with.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Singh. “You may leave, if you wish. But know this; you have a mandated number of hours of therapy, and the sooner you attend those sessions, the sooner you will be released. The choice is yours.”

Maxine shifted in her seat. Her arms were still crossed, but her eyes scanned the floor until she ultimately slouched back further in her chair like a pouting child, and said nothing.

“So glad you decided to stay with us,” said Dr. Singh.

Maxine blew a strand of hair out of her face, and rolled her eyes.

“So,” asked Dr. Singh, “does anyone wish to share a good thing that has happened since yesterday?”

“I made a new friend,” said Raven, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess you did,” said Kurt.

“Ah, excellent!” said Dr. Singh with a single, triumphant clap. “Very good, Raven. You’ve made a lot of new friends since you’ve come to stay with us.”

“It’s ‘cause of my magnetic personality,” Raven said.

“Something like that,” said Kurt.

“Good, good,” said Dr. Singh. “Anyone else?”

“I had something good happen to me,” said the tall woman, flipping her hair.

“And what is that, Deandra?” asked Dr. Singh.

“I did my nails yesterday,” she said, flexing her long fingers to show off the hot pink nail polish on her fingernails. “And when I woke up this morning, none of them were chipped. They still look gorgeous, honey.” He struck a pose with her hand underneath her chin, her fingers splayed as though she were modeling her handiwork. “It’s all about the little victories,” she said in a breathy voice, and batted her eyelids.

Valerie craned her head to get a better look at Deandra’s nails. Deandra flashed her a smile. “I can do yours later, honey,” she said, and mimed applying nail polish. Valerie nodded and smiled. Valerie’s interpreter just looked on, bored, as Valerie completely ignored her. The short, balding man sat next to Deandra, and regarded her in stony silence.

Dr. Singh looked around the room, and landed on the tall, nervous man. “What about you, Stefan?”

Stefan steepled the tips of his index fingers together, bending them up and down and pushing them together. “I-I don’t have anything to talk about,” he said in a soft voice. “But the warlock tried to curse me again yesterday.” He looked at Kurt. “You were there, you saw it.”

“Warlock?” Kurt looked at Raven. “Dude, you didn’t tell me you were a warlock.”

“I’m also a vampire,” Raven said with a grin.

“Stop it!” Stephan shouted. “Stop talking about your demonic influences like it’s a game! Repent!”

“NEVER!” shouted Raven.

“Raven, we have talked about this,” said Dr. Singh. “There is nothing to be gained in antagonizing Stephan, and Stephan, just because you do not understand why Raven expresses himself the way that he does, that does make him some sort of arbiter of the Devil.”

“But I wanna be an arbiter of the Devil,” said Raven.

“See?” said Stephan. “He admits it!”

“He’s just saying these things to get you all worked up,” said Odette, finally speaking up. “If you stop giving him the reaction he wants, he’ll stop.”

“Bite your tongue, witch!” shouted Stephan, though he sounded terrified.

“She’s right,” said Kurt. “And you’re being a jerk to her just because of how she looks.”

“You would say that, because you’re one of them,” said Stephan. “You play Satanic rock music for the MTV that makes young people want to kill themselves. That’s what I heard.”

“Who told you that?” asked Kurt.

“The Virgin Mary told me,” said Stephan. “And she and God protect me from the evil influences of people like you.”

“Look, Kurt, don’t encourage this shmendrick,” said the short, balding man, finally speaking up. “All he does is call everyone else in the session sinners and talk about how God talks to him directly and how he’s a modern day prophet. It’s all ‘witch this’ and ‘sodomite that’ and ‘harlot so-on and so-on.’ There’s no reasoning with him.”

“Ned, I do believe I am the one who evaluates patients here, and not you,” said Dr. Singh.

“I can make observations,” said Ned. “I’m not stupid.” 

Kurt looked to Dr. Singh. “Are all these sessions like this?”

“Yes,” said Odette flatly, rubbing her temple.

“Odette, please,” said Dr. Singh. He turned to Kurt. “Usually, when we have a new patient, there is a period of upheaval as we try to readjust to a new dynamic. You happened to come in very quickly after Maxine, so the group dynamic hasn’t had time to adequately adjust.” Dr. Singh swept his arm through the air, addressing the other patients. “The road to recovery is a difficult one, and we must all work together to put aside our petty squabbles and uplift one another. Everyone here has been dealt an unfortunate hand by life, and you have found yourselves in at the bottom of a valley in your own personal journey.”

The group fell quiet. A few nodded in agreement.

“But each of you has been blessed with the opportunity to move forward, to solve these problems and heal,” said Dr. Singh, his hands upturned as though he were delivering a sermon. “To deal with mental illness does not make you weak, or lesser; it is not something of which to be ashamed. You have merely decided to seek treatment for an ailment, as anyone else would for a cough or an ache. So please, I ask of you to be considerate of one another, so that we may heal together, and go back to the world stronger than you were before.”

Deandra plashed a hand over her chest and nodded as she let out a choked gasp. Her eyes went dewy, and she pulled a tight-lipped smile as she muttered “yes” under her breath. Maxine looked as though she wanted to interject, but said nothing, and merely huffed.

“So,” asked Dr. Singh, “is there anything specific that anyone would like to talk about?”

“I got real mad at Odette and Raven teasing me yesterday,” said Billy, finally speaking up. “But Mitch and Randy took me back to my room and I was able to calm down by doing the breathing exercises like you told me. And Kurt said he liked the drawing I did, so I think I’m doing better.”

“That’s good!” said Dr. Singh. “I’m very proud of your progress, Billy. You’re getting better at controlling your emotions.”

“I wish I wasn’t getting teased so much,” said Billy. “I don’t like it.”

“Look, Billy, I don’t mean anything by it,” said Raven. “I like pushing people’s buttons, I guess. It’s just _ teasing, _ is all.”

“I know, ‘cause you keep saying that all the time,” said Billy. “But it still makes me mad. I can’t help it. That’s just how I feel. Besides, you’re not as bad as Odette.” He shot a glare at Odette, who just rolled her eyes.

“Now, Billy, you can help it, so long as you stick to your exercises and practice disengagement,” sad Dr. Singh. “As for you, Odette, I understand you have a lot of anger you are also dealing with, and it’s unfair of you to take that out on Billy by making acerbic comments. He’s trying his best to fit in with you and our other artists.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Odette dismissively. “He doesn’t help by bringing up… certain things whenever he gets pissed off, and he’s just allowed to get away with it and nobody says anything about it.”

“But everybody knows!” Billy protested. “Everybody knows and you just expect everybody to not say anything and act like you didn’t go and cut--”

“Billy,” said Dr. Singh sternly, “if you expect to be treated with respect by the other patients, then you must also respect their own boundaries. That includes not bringing up certain topics unless Odette wishes to bring them up. Is that not fair?”

Billy sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

“Good,” said Dr. Singh. “Keep up your positive attitude, and I’m sure you will make more progress soon. Anyone else have anything to talk about?”

The room went quiet for a moment. Kurt cleared his throat. “I’ve got something I wanna talk about.”

“Oh?” said Dr. Singh. “And what is that?”

Kurt paused, briefly reconsidering his decision, before proceeding. “I’ve… I’ve been having these dreams, lately, where I’ve been told that I’m supposed to die before my 28th birthday. I already told you about this, Doctor, but last night there was something else that happened.”

Dr. Singh leaned forward, his fingers laced in front of his chin, and nodded.

“There was a hint that… from the moment before I… ended up here, that this was some kind of do-over,” said Kurt. “That this is me trying again from that specific point before I went to the hospital, and that I’m somehow doomed to repeat my life over and over again until I get it right, but I’ve had these… ghosts, I guess, telling me that I’ll just be repeating this cycle forever and I’ll never get the life that I want, that me continuing to live is just putting my friends and family in danger. Does that make sense?”

The rest of the group exchanged odd glances with one another, but Dr. Singh just nodded sagely.

“This sounds like a sort of eternal recurrence,” said Dr. Singh. “Are you familiar with that term?”

Kurt shook his head.

“Eternal recurrence is an idea as old as many Eastern religions,” Dr. Singh explained, “but it was pondered by the likes of Friedrich Nietzsche and Albert Camus. It’s the idea that all of time is circular, and that all that has ever happened, or will happen, will happen in a loop for all eternity. Camus directly compared it to the ancient Greek myth of Sisyphus, who was sentenced to an eternity of rolling a boulder up a hill every day, only for the boulder to roll back down again. Perhaps your struggle with your own problems has you feeling not unlike Sisyphus, and you are looking for a way out of that struggle, perhaps subconsciously, by inventing a hypothetical threat to your loved ones should you keep repeating this cycle.”

Kurt looked to his feet as he pondered this. There really wasn’t any way to prove that his dreams were anything more than just that; dreams cooked up by a guilty subconscious looking for explanations.

“If you are, in fact, being given a second chance to live your life again, should you not take this opportunity? Is there really a threat to your loved ones, or is this merely an excuse to give up on your recovery before you’ve even had a chance to start?” Dr. Singh let the question hang in the air like a smoke cloud, just hovering.

“Yeah,” he said solemnly. “You’re probably right. It’s stupid. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Don’t be sorry, Kurt!” said Dr. Singh. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you have anything else to add?”

“No,” said Kurt, shaking his head. “I’m good.”

“Very well, then,” said Dr. Singh. “Anyone else wish to speak?”

Ned spoke up, starting off with some inane complaint about his breakfast, but Kurt had tuned him out. He just sat there, hunched over with his hands clasped between his knees. He didn’t feel all that much better. He looked around the room, and his eyes met Valerie’s. She looked at him, her eyes, welling with sympathy, and made a quick series of gestures of which Kurt couldn’t keep track. He looked to Odette, who sat next to Valerie, and she mouthed the words back to him, “everything will be okay.”

Kurt smiled a little bit, and Valerie beamed back at him. Odette gave a dramatic sigh and shook her head.

Maybe, he hoped, Valerie could be right. Everything would be okay after all, so long as he worked for it.


	10. Pillow Biter

Group therapy had ended hours ago, and Kurt was in his room, listening to his Walkman to dream-like Japanese pop music; just one of the many tapes that Krist had gifted him. It wasn’t something Kurt would have picked out for himself, but there was something lonely in one of the tracks that he kept putting on repeat, a feeling of longing for a love that wasn’t even real, a love that was plastic and phony. Kurt was also scribbling idly in his notebook, scrawling abstract shapes that looked kind of like faces but also not. He’d originally retreated into his room because Maxine had gotten into a screaming match with the same two orderlies that had handled Billy yesterday (named Randy and Mitch, apparently, though Kurt didn’t know which was which), and the music was to drown out the long-since stopped shouting.

The cap to his pen, at this point, had been thoroughly chewed as Kurt staved off his nicotine cravings by gnawing on the piece of plastic. He’d always had something of an oral fixation, which was why it’d been so easy to take up smoking. It’d been four days since his last cigarette and he was regretting not thinking to ask somebody to bring him a pack. He thought he might have smelled smoke on Ned or Maxine, but after Maxine caused a scene, Kurt wanted to just get away from other people for a while. Both Raven and Valerie had popped their heads in to ask if he wanted to hang out, but he told them both he would come out when he felt like it, even writing it down in his notebook in big letters for Valerie. And while he tried to write lyrics for potential songs, even coming up with a few titles like “Robin’s Egg” and “Lucy Goosey,” but eventually he found himself scrawling “PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A FUCKING SMOKE” on a page, punctuating it with a drawing of a cigarette with a pair of balls.

Kurt heard a muffled knock and a greeting at his door, and he looked up to see the nurse who had woken him up that morning. “Hell-oooo,” she crooned, “you have somebody here to see you!” Kurt sat upright, and saw a long, lanky arm wave at him from behind the door frame, followed by the owner of said arm poking his head in.

“Good morning, Starshine,” sang Krist, as loudly and as off-key as possible as he stepped into the room, holding a brown paper shopping bag. “The earth says ‘hello!’”

“Krist!” Kurt scrambled up off the bed and ran up to him, embracing the taller man fully as he wrapped his arms all the way around him and put his head against Krist’s chest.

“Hey, man, good to see you too,” said Krist, pulling Kurt close into him and giving him a squeeze. “They feeding you well? I think I feel a little more meat on them bones.”

Kurt chuckled. He’d always been a twig of a man, an Auschwitz boy, as he’d call himself. Krist was one of the few people he could be totally open about his discomfort with his body and his face, even though Krist apparently could not see what Kurt saw in the mirror. Courtney couldn’t see it either, telling Kurt that he was more handsome than Brad Pitt, which to Kurt was just a ridiculous assertion, but he believed that she believed it. Krist never made any claims like that, but usually when Kurt was in a depressive mood, talking about how much he hated himself and his body and his life, Krist would just go quiet and listen, and then maybe hug him, if Kurt let him, and just let him get all of it out.

“Yeah, they’ve been feeding me pretty well,” said Kurt, looking up at Krist. “How have you been?”

Krist shrugged. “I’ve been alright,” he said. “Man, I did a radio interview this morning, and all people want to know is what’s going on with you, how you’re doing, so of course I gotta be the one to tell everybody that everything is fine, that you’re fine, the band’s gonna be just _ fine_.” Krist rolled his eyes dramatically, and blew up through his bottom lip, briefly lifting up a lock of his hair. “You’re gonna have a lot of messages on your answering machine to listen to when you get back.”

“Yeah?” asked Kurt. He took a few steps back from Krist.

“Oh, yeah,” said Krist. “I don’t know if you’ve seen anything on the news, but people know about you being in the hospital and all, but they don’t really know why, officially.” Krist sat down on the end of the bed. He looked tired. “Lot of places have been saying it was an overdose, but some people have heard about… you know… _ the attempt. _”

Kurt unconsciously touched his injured ear, his good mood slipping away. Krist knew that he hated the way the press covered his life, but also knew that Kurt would want to know what they were saying, so this was probably an effort for Krist to get out in front of the tabloid coverage to try and soften the blow. “How much do they know about that, exactly?”

“They just know ‘failed suicide attempt,’” said Krist. “And that you haven’t been seriously injured. That’s it. I haven’t confirmed anything, you know, I try to keep it vague and respectful, but… word gets out.”

Kurt took a seat beside Krist on the bed, his head down. It was inevitable that information would get out, really, but all the same, it didn’t mean Kurt would just grin and bear it.

“Sorry about that,” said Krist.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” said Kurt. “It’s not your fault. It’s not even close to being your fault.”

“Thanks, but it still sucks, though,” said Krist. “I always feel like I’m not doing enough, you know? Like I should be doing more, but I don’t know how, and I’ve been losing sleep just worrying about you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Kurt. “You got your own shit to worry about, man.”

“It’s been hard trying to focus on my own shit because I keep getting reminded of you,” Krist admitted. “I’m losing sleep over it. Hell, I think I’m losing my fucking hair over this.”

“Wait, really?” asked Kurt.

“I brushed my hair this morning and there was a lot of it left on the brush,” said Krist. “If you don’t get better, my hair’s gonna fall out and I’ll be bald by the end of the year and it’ll be all your fault.” He put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “The fate of my scalp rests in your hands.”

“Maybe you should just shave your head, then,” said Kurt. “I’d shave mine but I’d look like a Holocaust survivor.”

“Oh, you would not,” said Krist. “You’d look like a cancer patient. You can’t say Holocaust survivor, that’s not politically correct, you know.”

Kurt laughed. “You want me to shave my eyebrows too?”

“I think the two of us should just completely wax our bodies so we no longer have any hair, anywhere,” said Krist. “And then we’ll give all the hair we lost to Dave and… I don’t know, turn him into a fucking Bigfoot or something.”

“Wait, are you not Bigfoot?” asked Kurt.

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a moment before they both burst into barely constrained laughter. Kurt leaned on Krist, and covered his face with one hand.

“I’ll have you know,” said Krist, in a loud, declarative voice, “that we prefer to be called ‘Sasquatch Americans,’ thank you very much, _ sir. _”

Kurt giggled even harder, trying to muffle his laughter with Krist’s t-shirt. He looked up briefly to the door and saw Stephan and his nurse staring into the room.

“Do you mind?” asked Krist, putting his hands on his hips. Stephan and the nurse hurried along.

“The door...” said Kurt, “close… close the door.”

Krist got up off the bed and pulled the door close to closing, he looked around outside, and then back to Kurt. “Am I allowed to just close the door? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, they just don’t have locks,” said Kurt.

“Ah, okay,” said Krist, shutting the door. “I guess that makes sense. They don’t want somebody locked in their room trying to hang themselves with a towel or whatever.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt with a nod.

Krist took his seat back next to Kurt on the bed, and picked up the paper bag that had been at his feet. “Got you another present,” he said excitedly, and handed the bag over to Kurt, placing it in his lap. “I tried to bring you some cigarettes and a lighter but they confiscated those.”

“For real?” Funnily enough, he was just about to ask if Krist could get him a pack. “That sucks.”

“Sorry,” said Krist with a shrug. “I tried, man.”

Kurt opened the bag and pulled out a paperback copy of _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _. Slowly, he turned his head and looked over to Krist with narrowed eyes. “Oh, you think you’re real cute, huh?”

“I saw it in the book store, I couldn’t resist,” said Krist. “Who knows, maybe you’ll pick up some tips on how to not get lobotomized.”

Kurt covered his mouth as he laughed, still holding the book in his hand. “Jesus, Krist...”

“Or maybe you can just steal a boat,” said Krist. “You wanna go steal a boat later? I could smash a window open for you with a water fountain if you want.” Krist looked around. “Ah-ha!” He stood up and went into the bathroom, and Kurt stood up and followed him. Krist was crouched over the toilet, grunting and straining as he made a farcical attempt to pull it up out of the floor.

“Just give me a minute,” said Krist. “I’ll be chuckin’ the john out the window in no time!”

“My hero,” said Kurt.

Krist gave one last agonized attempt at pulling out the toilet before he went limp, collapsing against it. “I give up,” he said. “My will… isn’t strong enough...”

“Guess I’m stuck here until you’re able to bust me out then, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Krist said, picking himself up off the floor and dusting off his t-shirt. “Seriously, though, I hope that wasn’t a bad gift.”

“No, I appreciate it,” said Kurt. “Thank you.”

Krist beamed at him, his smile looking like that of a little boy who’d just been handed an ice cream cone bigger than his own head. “You’re welcome, man,” he said. He stepped out of the bathroom and ruffled the hair on the top of Kurt’s head. “Just make sure you get better, okay?”

“I’ll try,” said Kurt. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, though. Lot of shit to work through.”

“Like what?”

Kurt went and sat back down on the bed. “Like, a lot,” he said. “A _ lot _ a lot.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Kurt nodded. Krist sat on the bed again, patting the spot where Kurt was seated earlier. Kurt sat back down with a sigh, and just started talking.

He started with Courtney admitting to cheating on him with Billy Goddamn Corgan, and elaborating on the strain it put on their already buckling relationship, and how he found the idea of divorcing her almost existentially terrifying. This made for a good segway into Kurt’s dreams, and he told Krist about being visited by Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper in great detail. At times he would pause, waiting for Krist to make a joke, but Krist was listening intently, and would just urge Kurt to continue. He wrapped this topic up by talking about the latest dream, of Buddy Holly’s head on his wife’s body warning him to stay away from the Big Bopper, and then he waited.

“… Wow,” said Krist finally, after a moment of contemplation. “That’s nuts, dude. And I _ really _ don’t know what it says about you that you’re seeing Buddy Holly’s head on Courtney’s body.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if this is all in my head or if this is… something else.”

“I don’t know either,” said Krist. “Like, which is preferable, that you’re going crazy, or that ghosts are real and they’re telling you that nonspecific ‘bad things’ are going to happen to the people you love if you don’t die before you turn 28?” He shook his head. “Both of those options are pretty sucky, but at least the first one could be fixed… I guess?”

“Yeah, but if some ‘bad thing’ happens to you or to Courtney or Frances or Dave or anybody else after I turn 28, I know I’m going to feel like it’s my fault.” Kurt realized as he spoke that his first example was Krist. He tried to see if Krist had noticed, but if he had, his expression wasn’t indicating as much. Krist just looked pensive, his brow furrowed as he considered this.

“That’s not really fair, though,” said Krist. “So what Buddy Holly’s ghost is saying that if, for example, you turn 28 and something like, I dunno, I get hit by a fucking bus, that it’s somehow your fault, and not mine for not looking both ways when I cross the street, or the bus driver’s for running a red light? How would that be your fault?”

“He kept talking about timelines, so I guess it’s like that saying about a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil and causing a tornado in Texas,” said Kurt. “If you think about it, if I were dead, you might not have a reason to be in the street at the exact time that bus could hit you, so me being dead could mean that never happens.”

“Maybe, but… couldn’t anything bad that happens to your friends or family be attributed to this… I don’t know, is it a curse?” asked Krist. “It really just seems like there’s some _ confirmation bias _ going on.”

“I’ve considered that, yeah,” said Kurt.

“You might be onto something when you told Buddy that this could be some kind of manifestation of guilt,” said Krist. “That sounds like what this is, honestly. You’re having these dreams because of guilt that you really shouldn’t be feeling at all.”

Kurt took pause at those last few words. _ You really shouldn’t be feeling guilt at all. _ It was a strange thought. “Why shouldn’t I?” Kurt asked softly.

“Because you’re sick and you’re trying to get better!” said Krist. “You’ve fucked up, yeah, and you’ve done some really shitty things, like punching me in the face when I was trying to help you, for example--”

“I said I was sorry,” said Kurt.

“And I forgive you!” said Krist. “I forgive you. But you can’t dwell on all that. It’s in the past, and I know you did it because you were scared. But you’re still here, despite everything. You’re still alive, which means you have the chance to get better, and you deserve the chance to get better. You can’t get better if you’re dead. So I honestly think these ghost dreams are just what you think, they’re your subconscious trying to make you feel guilty for not being dead by threatening people.”

“They feel so real, though,” Kurt muttered.

“I’m sure they do,” said Krist. “If I was having dreams like that, I’d be freaked out, too.”

Kurt leaned against Krist’s shoulder, and Krist wrapped his arm around Kurt as he rested his head on top of Kurt’s.

“Thanks for taking me seriously,” said Kurt. He turned his head to press his cheek against Krist’s chest, and as he sighed, he got a whiff of Krist’s sweat, and it went straight to his head.

“Of course, Kurt,” said Krist. “Think nothing of it.”

“You smell nice,” said Kurt.

“No I don’t, I stink,” said Krist.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a weirdo,” said Krist.

Kurt looked up at Krist, his bright-blue eyes locked on Krist’s. “There was… one other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Krist. “What’s that?”

“Well...” Kurt started, but he hesitated. Maybe it would just be better if he didn’t say anything at all, just left things the way they were without potentially sabotaging what they had, but at the same time, he felt as though he couldn’t just keep going on with his feelings left unspoken, especially if he did end up dying in the next few months. Fuck it, he thought. Just spit it out. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Krist reeled his head back, and immediately Kurt’s heart sank, expecting to see a look of disgust on Krist’s face, but instead, Krist’s face was a mix of emotions; surprise, confusion, discomfort, but also… longing, like he was being presented with something he wanted, but could never have. “Kurt...” he started, but Kurt cut him off.

“I’m serious,” said Kurt, lifting a hand to Krist’s face, so that he could look Krist straight in the eye. “It’s not that I don’t love Courtney, because I do. I love her so much, but at the same time… I also want to be with you. I find myself wishing I could be with both of you at the same time, even though I know that I can’t have it, I still want it so much that it hurts me.”

Kurt waited for a response, and Krist heaved a great sigh as he hung his head. “If you had told me this even five years ago,” he said, slowly, with delicate purpose, “it wouldn’t hurt as much as you telling me this right now, of all times.”

“Krist--”

“It’s really unfair,” Krist continued, holding up a hand to signal to Kurt to be quiet. “It’s unfair to Shelli, it’s unfair to Courtney, it’s unfair to _ me, _ because there’s still a part of me that would drop everything to make you happy, because I really do… _ care _ about you that much. Shit, I… I think I love you too, the same way. I really, really do.” He looked to Kurt with dewy eyes, sniffed, and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. “But it’s too late now.”

Kurt felt a knot in his throat. He knew that the feelings he had were mutual, but he wasn’t sure how deep they went. Apparently, not as deep as Kurt had hoped. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. No, it’s not too late. It’ll only be too late if I’m dead.”

“What?” asked Krist.

“Look, there’s a chance that I could die before I turn 28,” said Kurt, clutching onto Krist’s t-shirt. “I’ve already been cheated on already. Courtney knows how I feel, hell, even Dave knows how I feel. What if… what if we just… try it out, just once.”

“Kurt, this is… this is treading into some very risky territory here,” said Krist in a warbly voice.

“But you feel it too, don’t you?” Kurt pulled his knees up underneath him to get closer to eye-level with Krist, making it hard for Krist to look anywhere else but into Kurt’s eyes. “We don’t have to tell anybody. It could be our secret. I just want to feel what it’s like, more than just getting drunk and high and making out and jerking off, you know?”

Krist blushed bright, hot red. “We can’t… definitely not here...” He leaned back away from Kurt, but his hand hovered over Kurt’s back as though he were holding it over an open flame.

“Why not?”

“You know exactly why not,” said Krist. “Somebody could walk in… I mean, we shouldn’t anyway, I already said...”

“Then what if we just kiss?” asked Kurt. “Not like we haven’t done that a million times before in front of millions of people, right?”

Kurt slid his hand under Krist’s shirt, his palm pressed against his chest until it rested over Krist’s heart, which was thumping like a startled jackrabbit. Krist’s hand finally made contact with the small of Kurt’s back.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” said Krist, his voice low and husky.

“Just shut up already,” said Kurt, bringing up his other hand to the back of Krist’s head, grabbing a handful of his hair and pushing his head forward until their lips met. Immediately, Kurt noticed the faint taste of beer on Krist’s breath and Kurt slipped the tip of his tongue past Krist’s lips. Kurt pushed Krist back onto the mattress and straddled him, kissing deep, their tongues twisting and writhing against each other as Krist supported Kurt’s bony ass with one big hand, pulling up the back of his shirt with the other. Kurt ground his crotch against Krist’s with purpose, and could feel the stiffness from inside Krist’s jeans.

“God, you’re cute,” said Krist, breaking away from their kiss for a chance to take a breath.

“I knew you wanted this,” said Kurt slyly, putting a hand on Krist’s hip.

“You’re right, and you’re still a jerk.”

“You know you can stop anytime,” Kurt reminded him, bucking his hips slowly against Krist’s crotch.

“Yeah, I know,” said Krist. “I just don’t wanna.” He reached for the hem of Kurt’s pajama bottoms, and tugged them downwards along with his tighty-whities, getting a quick glimpse of Kurt’s dick before there was a knock on the door.

Krist immediately yelped in panic, rolling Kurt off of him and onto the floor. “Oh, shit!” he cried out, reaching to pull Kurt back up, as Kurt quickly pulled up the front of his pants. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Krist continued, grabbing Kurt’s arm and pulling him to his feet just as the door opened. Kurt turned to look at the visitor to see, of all people, Ned standing there, looking smug.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Krist asked.

“The hell do you want?” Kurt asked, clearing his hair out of his face.

Ned stepped inside, and quietly closed the door behind him. “I thought so,” he said, wagging a finger at Kurt. “I thought you were gay, and I just _ knew _ it.”

“I’m not gay,” Kurt retorted, as Krist smoothed the wrinkles out of his t-shirt.

“Yeah, ‘I’m not gay,’ says the guy who had his tongue down another guy’s throat,” said Ned. “Jesus, I’d say you were in the closet, but your closet has a fucking bead curtain.”

“Who the hell is this?” Krist asked again, looking to Kurt in confusion.

“This is Ned,” said Kurt. “He’s in group therapy with me. I barely know this dude.”

“Let me guess,” said Ned,approaching Krist, “you’re the top, right? Because this one,” he pointed to Kurt, “is giving off serious bottom vibes. Like, barely suppressed pig bottom vibes. Makes sense why his wife would go off and find some other stud to schtup.”

“What the fuck, how long have you been listening in, you creepy little goblin man?” asked Krist.

“Long enough,” said Ned.

“Yeah, well, you’re off base, because I’m not gay, I’m bisexual,” Kurt asserted. “We both are.”

“Psssh,” Ned shook his head. “Yeah, okay, fellas, whatever you say. I’m not here to try and blackmail you or whatever it is you’re thinking, because, in case you haven’t caught on by now, I too am a _ faygeleh. _”

“I don’t care if you’re a Faygo-Lay or whatever the fuck,” snapped Krist. “You standing outside a dude’s room listening in is creepy as hell.”

“You misunderstand my intentions,” said Ned, pushing up his glasses. “I’m sympathetic, here. I’m gay, and I wanted to make sure that nobody else was gonna walk in on you guys and rat you out to the vultures outside with the cameras looking for a scoop. Because trust me, I’ve seen them. They’re just waiting for our outdoor recess to snap some candids of Blondie over here.” He gestured to Kurt. “Now, me, I’m perfectly comfortable with people knowing I smoke pole, but I imagine that for a married man of your stature, you probably don’t want that splashed all over the tabloids, now do you?”

“Dude, we made out on live, network television,” said Krist.

“You buttfuck on live, network television?” Ned asked. “Look, I get that you try and cover it all up under the guise of being ‘90’s kinda guys’ or whatever, but actually being outed for sucking cock is another thing entirely. I don’t wanna see that happen to two of my fellow queers, is all.”

Kurt and Krist exchanged skeptical glances.

“Look,” said Ned, “have these, as a sign of good faith.” He reached into the pocket of his robe, and pulled out a pair of cigarettes, presenting them to Kurt and Krist. Krist shook his head, but Kurt snatched both from Ned’s fingertips.

“Where did you get these?” Kurt asked.

“I have connections,” said Ned. “We’re not the only cocksuckers in this wing, trust me. I look out for my fellow men-loving-men, and you, Tweedle-Twink and Tweedle-Twunk, have officially gained the protection of the savviest fag on this floor. Meet me during outside recess and I can provide you with your precious nicotine fix.”

Krist looked to Kurt, who had already tucked the cigarettes behind his ear, and then back to Ned. “So we’re just supposed to buy that you’re just a really nice guy and not just a nosy pervert eavesdropping on us?”

“You got a lighter?” Kurt asked. Krist nudged him with his elbow in the ribs. “Ow, what?”

“Do you mind giving us a moment?” Krist asked, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s shoulder.

“Oh, of course,” said Ned, turning around and gesturing to them to go ahead with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t mind me.”

Krist pulled Kurt around so that they were both facing the wall, and hunched over as he pulled Kurt into a huddle. “I do not trust this guy at all,” he said in a hushed tone. “He’s working some kind of angle.”

“You’re probably right,” said Kurt. “But he got me cigarettes, and maybe it is a good thing he found us out rather than… some other people in here.”

“So you’re just gonna go along with this guy, then?” asked Krist.

“I’m not gonna get all buddy-buddy with him,” said Kurt. “There’s other people here that I actually wanna be friends with, but if this guy can do favors for me like get me cigarettes, then sure, I’ll play nice.”

“I dunno, dude, he comes off as sleazy.”

“What, are you antisemitic or something?” Kurt asked sarcastically.

“You know, normally I’d be willing to go along with a joke like that, like ha ha, guy who looks like Woody Allen crossed with George Costanza is kinda shifty, funny stereotype, but I am being _ serious _ here,” said Krist through gritted teeth. “Look, you know your main priority while you’re here is getting better, right?”

“Yeah, duh, that’s why I stayed.”

“Then maybe you should be a little bit more cautious around a guy who’s offering you ‘favors’ and dangling the paparazzi over your head as a threat,” said Krist. “Like, how do _ we _ know he isn’t going to be feeding shit to the press about what he overheard? How can we trust him?”

Kurt turned his head back to look to Ned. “Hey,” he said. “How can we trust you?”

Ned shrugged. “All I can do is offer you my word as somebody who also fucks men. What, you want me to suck your dick to prove it?”

“Not really,” said Kurt.

“Listen,” said Ned, taking a step forward, “I’ve lost a lot of friends due to AIDS, alright? I seen a lot of my fellow queers die miserable deaths, and I consider it a miracle that I never caught the bug myself. I look at you, and I see two baby queers who haven’t figured themselves out yet, and my heart goes out to you.” He put a hand on his chest to illustrate this point. “Guys like you, you’re our future, whether you accept it or not, and I don’t really have many friends here. Deandra was the closest one, and I’m pretty sure she hates my guts now.”

“Why, is Deandra a lesbian?” Kurt asked.

Ned chuckled. “Ohhhh, noooo no no, no, she is not,” he said, shaking his head as though he were taking pity on Kurt. “Don’t worry, though, you’ll figure it out, it’s just not my place to say.”

“Look, said Krist, stepping forward and towering over Ned, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I find you to be pretty suspicious. If you actually want to help Kurt out by giving him cigarettes or whatever, then that’s fine. But if I hear anything about you trying to sell him out, or hurting him, or trying anything funny, then I will kick your ass. You got that?”

Ned appeared completely nonplussed. “What I wouldn’t give to date a guy that feels the way about me as you do about Blondie.” He shook his head with a smile on his lips.

“What’s Blondie got to do with it?” Kurt asked. “Aside from being a really good band.”

“Hush, Blondie,” said Ned, then looked back up to Krist. “I understand, big fella. I won’t hurt a hair on his pretty little head, alright? Besides, I’m not the one you should be worried about tryin’ to steal him away from you. Maybe watch out for that deaf floozy that’s been making goo-goo eyes at your man ever since he stepped in here.”

“Deaf floozy?” Krist looked back to Kurt for clarification.

“Valerie’s not a floozy, Ned, she’s just… got a crush, I guess,” said Kurt. “Look, she knows I’m married, and--”

“HA!” Ned interjected with a harsh laugh, throwing back his head. “Yeah, because being married sure has kept you real loyal, huh?”

“Shut up,” Krist snapped. “I think you should leave now.”

Ned threw up his hands. “Alright,” he said. “Fine. I give. I wanted to warn you about Val, but I guess I know when I’m not wanted around. Just trying to be helpful, what with your eternal recurrence and all.”

“His what?” Krist asked.

“Never mind,” said Ned as he turned to leave. “I’m sorry I bothered you. But a word to the wise; trying to get frisky during visiting hours? You’re begging to get caught. The rest of us wait until lights out, but your buddy Paul Bunyan here’s not gonna be around for that unless he checks in himself, so maybe just hold off… unless you want people to know what you’re up to.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Kurt.

“Now fuck off before I sic my big, blue ox on you,” said Krist.

“Just tryin’ to help!” said Ned as he opened the door. “No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.” He closed the door behind him, finally out of their hair.

“That guy’s a prick,” said Krist. “You be careful around that guy.”

“Relax,” said Kurt. “I’ll be careful, but I think he really does wanna help me.”

“Do you?” asked Krist.

Kurt shrugged. “I dunno, man. I think he’s a pain in the ass, but I’m not getting stranger danger vibes off of him, you know? Maybe you’re just put off because he looks like a dweeb.”

“Are you accusing me of discriminating against a guy for his looks?” asked Krist.

“Well, are you?”

“No,” said Krist, not sure how serious Kurt was, “he just… he was listening in on us. That’s creepy.”

“He could have kept listening and not interrupted us, would that have been better?”

Krist crossed his arms and leaned against the wall opposite of Kurt. He shook his head. “I dunno,” he said. “What was with him trying to toss a deaf girl under the bus? What was that about?”

“Everybody here seems to be involved in some kind of personal drama,” said Kurt. “You should have seen the group therapy earlier. Everybody’s just taking potshots at each other. It’s like the worst Thanksgiving dinner ever.”

“Damn,” said Krist. “Sounds nuts.”

“I could tell you about it,” said Kurt. “How much longer do you plan on staying?”

Krist scratched the back of his head. “I got most of the day free until later,” he said. “I guess I could hang around until they kick me out.” He smiled at Kurt, his good mood finally returning, and getting a warm smile from Kurt in return.

“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the bed. “I can tell you all about it.”

The two of them sat back on the bed beside each other, and Kurt found himself talking again, more talkative than he had been in a long time, and Krist just listened. For a while, things felt almost normal again.

Almost.


	11. Big Bop

After almost two hours of just talking, Krist ended his visit with Kurt, and was now tasked with bringing more stuff for next time; one of Kurt’s acoustic guitars, a tape recorder, and a pair of shoes. Krist had told him that he would be back in two, maybe three days, as he had some things to take care of, and probably, Kurt guessed, some things to think over. After one last hug, Krist waved goodbye on his way out. Kurt hardly had time to think on it further, as an orderly had come by to inform Kurt that the outside recess had started.

Outside, the sun stubbornly shone through a veil of clouds, looking down on a courtyard surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence. Most of the yard was grass, with a few benches, as well as a basketball court, currently only being used by Billy, who was intensely focused on trying to shoot hoops, letting out an aggravated “FUCK!” each time he missed. On the edge of the yard closest to the building was a roofed terrace, where Kurt caught sight of Raven, Odette, Valerie and Maxine by a pillar, as Maxine was balancing on a plank of wood on the edge of the terrace. Raven was leaning against the pillar, while Odette and Valerie sat on the flagstone of the terrace. Maxine, like Billy, seemed similarly frustrated.

“If I _ had _ an actual skateboard, I could actually pull off some tricks,” she explained as Kurt approached, without him even having to ask. “But they didn’t let me bring a skateboard, probably because they got the idea that I’d be rolling down the halls like this was some kind of quirky teen comedy.”

“That’d be kind of rad, actually,” said Raven.

“Yeah, well, as we’re all aware, the establishment here is very much against anything that could be considered radical or cool,” said Maxine.

“Or, dare I say, even ‘radicool,” said Odette.

“Somewhere, a marketing executive just jizzed his pants,” said Kurt.

“_Nnngh, totally tubular, duuuude! _” shouted Raven, convulsing in a mock orgasm and falling to his knees. Valerie looked to Odette, who signed the joke to her, and Valerie let out a laugh like an asthmatic mule.

Maxine managed to flip the plank of wood over and jumped back on top of it, wobbling as she regained her balance, before letting one side tilt towards the grass. “This sucks,” she announced. 

Across the yard, Billy let out another “FUCK!”

Maxine looked to Kurt. “You skateboard, rock ‘n roll man?”

“Not really,” said Kurt. “It didn’t really catch on in my home town until after I had dropped out of high school, and my home town is pretty much like Twin Peaks, except without anything exciting happening.”

“You come from the boonies, huh?” asked Maxine.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. He took a seat next to Valerie, who was already pulling up her white board. “Logging town. It sucked.”

“Is it at least pretty like Twin Peaks?” asked Odette.

Kurt shrugged. “Sort of,” he mumbled.

Valerie wrote on her white board, and held it up to Kurt. “YOU HAD A VISITOR TODAY” it said.

Kurt nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

Valerie rubbed the board clean, and wrote a new message. “WHO WAS IT?”

“My friend Krist,” said Kurt, taking care to mouth his words out fully. “We’re in the same band.”

“I thought that tall guy looked familiar,” said Maxine. “That’s your bassist, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” said Kurt.

“I saw him come in,” said Raven. “I thought I recognized him, but all the times I remember seeing him on TV, he had longer hair and a beard.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t had a beard in a while,” said Kurt.

Valerie signed to Odette, who let out a muted giggle. “Val says he’s kind of cute,” said Odette, and Valerie pouted and shoved her shoulder, then slamming the side of her right hand into her upturned, open left palm over and over again, though she was also blushing.

“I’ll let him know next time he comes over,” said Kurt. Out of the corner of his eye, on the far end of the terrace, Kurt noticed Ned with a tall, burly orderly that Kurt had seen around, but didn’t know the name of. Ned happened to look over, meet Kurt’s eyes, and pointed him out to the orderly, who jerked his head upward as though to indicate for Kurt to come over.

“Hold on a second,” said Kurt, standing to his feet, “I’ll be right back.”

“What do you want with Ned?” Raven asked, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” said Kurt. He walked along the edge of the terrace until he finally stopped in front of Ned and his orderly, and he pulled out one of the cigarettes he’d been hiding behind his good ear, under his hair.

“And speak of the devil, there he is,” said Ned, looking up at the orderly. “Charlie, this is Kurt.”

“Hey,” said Charlie. The man was built like a powerlifter, barrel-chested and thick, hairy arms like tree trunks, with a completely bald head and a beard goatee. He reached a giant ham-hock of a hand into his back pocket, and pulled out a lighter, presenting it to Kurt as he flicked it on, and any concerns Kurt had about what, exactly, Ned had been telling this guy about him before evaporated. Kurt leaned forward, cigarette between his lips, and put the tip into the flame as he inhaled deeply.

The rush it sent to his head came in a wave, washing over his brain as he held the smoke in his lungs, and let out it. “God, I needed that,” he muttered. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Charlie, his voice coming out in a deep, rumbling baritone.

“See the kinds of benefits available to you if you hang around ole’ Ned?” said Ned, clapping a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Trust me, there’s more cigs where that came from, buddy, and even more benefits on top of that.”

“Cool,” said Kurt. “Anyway, I’m gonna head back now--”

“What, with the heteros?” asked Ned.

“No, with the people closer to my own age,” said Kurt. “Not the guy in his 40’s.”

“Please,” said Ned. “I’m 34. That’s why we’re in the same 18-35 year-old therapy group. I only look older because of the hair loss.” He covered up the top of his head with his hand, and took off his glasses with the other. “Not so bad lookin’ now, huh?” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Ned was right; without seeing his balding head or the giant lenses of his glasses, he was fairly handsome; his features were sharp, from his nose to his chin to his cheekbones, and his eyes were a steely gray. It was as though Ned had transformed by the aid of a fairy godmother, and then he put his glasses back on and removed his hand from his head, and he turned back into the nebbish-looking dweeb he’d looked like before.

Charlie had noticed Kurt’s wide-eyed expression. “He’s more handsome than people think,” he said.

“I only believe that ‘cause he tells me,” said Ned.

“I know how that is,” said Kurt.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” said Ned. “You’re a pretty boy, Kurt. I think maybe you get thrown off because you’re one of those pretty boys that’s got spooky eyes.”

“Spooky eyes?” asked Kurt. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Y’know, your eyes,” said Ned. “You’ve got those piercing, baby-blue eyes that just… hook people.”

“Very enigmatic,” said Charlie.

“Exactly,” said Ned, bumping Charlie’s chest with the back of his hand. “Bet that drives goth chicks wild. Wouldn’t be surprised if Odette was into you.”

“Nah, I don’t think she’s into me,” said Kurt.

“Maybe she is and you haven’t noticed because she doesn’t come on as strong as Val,” said Ned.

“Maybe,” said Kurt, taking another drag. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, or were you just gonna warn me about Valerie being boy-crazy again?”

“Now that I think about it, there was something I wanted to ask you,” said Ned, stepping a few paces closer to Kurt. “You surf the web at all, Kurt?”

“Surf the… web?” Kurt asked.

“The internet, the information super highway,” Ned clarified. “I’m sure you got a computer at home, right?”

“Yeah, but I prefer to use a typewriter when I write letters,” said Kurt. “Other than that, I play games on it that I can’t play on my Super Nintendo.”

Ned groaned. “Hoo, boy, you’re not even 30 yet and already you’re gonna be left in the digital dust. Listen, when you get outta here, you get yourself an internet connection. Trust me, the internet? It’s going to be the future of communication, and I’m not saying that because I work in IT. I’m working on building my own website, and if you set yourself up with an email address, I could even help you make one yourself. It’s all very cutting edge technology here, a big step up from using the BBS boards I’ve been on since the 80’s. Gonna make the bulletin boards look like cave paintings in a couple of years.”

Kurt looked to Charlie for help, and all Charlie could offer back was a helpless shrug. “I don’t understand anything you just said to me,” said Kurt.

“Look, I understand, it’s all very nerdy right now,” said Ned. “But before you leave, I’ll give you my phone number, and my email address. Hell, I’ll register a domain name for your little band, you’ll have Nirvana.com, you’ll be able to do whatever you want with it!”

“Uhhh… okay?” said Kurt. “I’ll look into it. I’ve got some friends that use the web but I don’t really understand what you _ do _ on it, exactly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ned. “Once we’re both out, I’ll get you set up. You’ll figure it out, you’re a smart guy, and soon, you’ll be a smart guy with the first music website all about _ your _ band.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. “I’m gonna… go back and hang out with the others now.” He turned and started to walk away. “See you later.”

“NIRVANA.COM, KURT!” Ned shouted after him. “It might not mean anything now, but in a few years? You’ll be ahead of the curve, buddy! Trust me!”

Kurt hunched over in embarrassment as he made his way back to the others, sucking on his cigarette. Raven was already giggling.

“The hell was that?” asked Maxine.

“NIRVANA.COM!” Raven shouted, shaking his clenched fists and his head thrown back towards the sky. “THE WAVE OF THE FUTURE!”

Kurt peeked back over his shoulder and saw Ned sigh and shake his head as he took out his own cigarette out of his breast pocket, while the others just laughed.

“DAMMIT!” yelled Billy from the court, missing yet another shot.

“You got cigs from Ned?” Maxine asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “Why, you want some?”

He was about to pull the spare cigarette from behind his ear when Maxine flipped the plank of wood she was standing on, caught it, and started to walk towards Ned. “Yeah, I do,” she said, and left.

Kurt turned back to the others. “I had an extra, I was just gonna offer her mine,” he said, and pulled it out from behind his ear. “You guys want one?”

“No thank you,” said Odette. Valerie shook her head.

“I only smoke weed,” said Raven. “I don’t really get the point of just cigarettes. They don’t make me feel anything aside from feeling shaky. Like, what’s the point, you know? Aside from looking cool, I guess.”

“Fair enough,” said Kurt, tucking the spare cigarette back behind his ear. “Thought I’d offer.”

“That was still nice of you to offer,” said Odette. “I was only ever a social smoker anyway, but it can be hard to get a smoke around here, and a lot of people who smoke have a hard time getting a hold of any, you know?”

“Yeah, I got that,” said Kurt. “I guess it makes sense. We are in a hospital.”

“Oh, no, that’s not why it’s so hard to get cigarettes here,” said Raven. “It’s because there was a patient here like a year ago who kept burning himself with cigarettes. I heard he’d pick up butts off the ground and just put them out on his arms and his tongue.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Odette.

Valerie nudged Odette, and started signing rapidly. Kurt could only pick up a few familiar gestures, like tapping her lips with her fingers in a v-shape as though she were holding a cigarette, but other than that he was completely lost.

“What’d she say?” asked Raven.

“She said that there was a guy like that here when she first came in,” said Odette. “So I guess you’re not completely full of shit.”

Raven smirked, and turned to Odette, bringing his fingers to his chin and making a gesture as though he were blowing a kiss. “Thank you,” he said.

“Still doesn’t make sense that they kept that policy after he left,” said Odette.

“It only takes one guy to ruin something for everybody else,” said Raven.

“I guess so,” said Kurt. He looked around and his eyes fell onto the court again.

Standing next to Billy was Deandra, who was dribbling the basketball as Billy watched. In one fluid motion, Deandra shot the ball up towards the hoop, where it circled the rim before it fell to the side. “Shoot!” she said, though it lacked the irritation of Billy’s previous outbursts. Billy ran towards the ball and picked it up, his face screwed tight with a look of determination.

“So did Ned just want to talk to you about computer stuff?” Raven asked Kurt.

“Huh?” Kurt whipped his head back to look at Raven. “Oh, yeah. He mentioned stuff about the web, like I know anything about the web.”

“When I was still going to college I used the web,” said Raven. “Mostly just to talk to total strangers about music and comic books… and Doom. Mostly about Doom. You ever play Doom?”

Kurt shook his head. “That’s a video game, right?”

“Oh, man,” said Raven. “Doom is like… the greatest video game of all time. It’s like Wolfenstein but like, a hundred times better than Wolfenstein.”

“Oh, here we go,” said Odette.

“Like, Wolfenstein’s awesome, right, ‘cause you’re going around shooting Nazis until you shoot robo-Hitler and blow him up, right? That’s awesome. But then you got Doom, and you’re shooting _ fucking demons and zombies _ on Mars! The demons fucking escaped from Hell through a portal that’s on _ fucking Mars, _ and you have to shoot them all with a bunch of different guns, and the entire time this music is playing, and it sounds kind of like Metallica, like,” Raven scatted the main theme for the game through gritted teeth, trying to imitate the sound of the MIDI guitars, “and they explode into bloody chunks like Mortal Kombat, and you keep getting better and better guns, and the demons keep getting tougher and tougher, and then you get the BFG 9000; the Big Fucking Gun, and it can take out a whole room of demons with this huge, green plasma ball, and it’s fucking sick, dude.” Raven concluded this pitch with a huge smile, almost out of breath from the excitement of merely talking about Doom. “Anyway, you should totally play it, it’s fun.”

Kurt blew out a stream of smoke in the air above his head. “It sounds fun.”

“It totally is, dude,” said Raven. “Greatest video game ever made. I swear by it.”

Maxine’s raised voice rang out from behind Kurt on the far side of the terrace, drawing the group’s attention to her as she was yelling at Ned. “FUCK YOU, HOW COME YOU GIVE HIM SOME AND NOT ME?”

“Because I felt like it, I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Ned fired back as Charlie stepped between them. “You think this is Soviet Russia, just because I give one guy a cigarette, that means I gotta give one to you, too?”

“You only gave him one because he’s famous and you’re sucking his ass like you’re a fucking lamprey!”

“I don’t even know what a ‘lamprey’ is!”

“IT’S A FISH THAT STICKS TO BIGGER FISH SO IT CAN SUCK THEIR BLOOD!”

“THEN WHY DON’T YOU JUST CALL ME A LEECH LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?”

“SHUT UP!” screamed Billy from the basketball court. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! I’M TRYING TO JUST SHOOT SOME HOOPS HERE AND YOU KEEP YELLING ABOUT DUMB BULLSHIT AND _ I HATE YOU! _” As Deandra attempted to comfort Billy by putting her hands on his shoulders, he violently shrugged her off, and launched the basketball like a missile right into Ned’s face. It bounced off of Ned’s head, knocking his glasses off, as he staggered backwards, his arms pinwheeling in the air as he fought to regain his balance, but wound up falling flat onto his ass. Deandra gasped in horror as she covered her mouth, Valerie let out a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech, and Billy just stood there, breathing heavily as he clenched and unclenched his fists, staring at Maxine and Ned as Charlie rushed towards him.

“THAT’S IT,” shouted Charlie as he grabbed Billy by the shoulders. “ALL OF YOU, BACK INSIDE. RECESS IS OVER.”

Billy put up no resistance as Charlie steered him back inside to the steel door, only let out whining noises. Kurt sucked down the rest of his cigarette in haste before he dropped the butt to the ground on the flagstone, grinding it down with the toe of his slipper. Charlie steered Billy towards Ned, looking to see if the smaller man needed any help, but Ned waved him off. Maxine, who had been completely silent since Ned had gotten beaned, chuckled. She didn’t move from her spot as the others began to filter back inside, and just kept laughing.

Ned picked his glasses up off the terrace and put them on, though they now sat on his face crooked. He shot her a nasty glare as he joined the others.

Kurt held open the door for the other patients, though it was mainly an excuse to look back at Maxine. She still hadn’t moved, but she was cackling now, like a super villain, as the clouds grew darker overhead, and somewhere far off the sound of thunder could be heard. She’d put her hands on her hips, throwing her head back, not even paying any mind to Stephan and his nurse slowly walking past her. Kurt hadn’t even seen Stephan the entire time he’d been out, and as Stephan drew closer to Maxine, he recoiled and stepped behind his nurse, who tugged on Maxine’s sleeve, only to be completely ignored as Maxine doubled over from laughter.

Somebody poked Kurt in the shoulder, and he turned around to see Valerie, holding up her white board. “Let’s go,” it said.

Stephan’s nurse had finally reached the door, holding it open as Kurt let go. Multiple orderlies, including Randy and Mitch, maneuvered past him to go outside, looking ready to drag Maxine back inside. Kurt retreated back inside, catching one last glimpse of Maxine, now nearly rolling on the ground laughing, as four men surrounded her, each one looking ready to grab a limb. Valerie stepped in front of Kurt, and made a gesture as though she were trying to pluck something out of mid-air near her head, and pointing at the sign again. “Let’s go.”

He followed Valerie back to the common area as Maxine’s laughter turned to angry screaming.

~

The rest of the day was uneventful. More idle conversation around the drawing table, some reading, dinner, and a serving of methadone and medication right before lights out. The methadone helped with falling asleep, something he’d had trouble doing without heroin every time he’d tried to abstain from it, and the medication usually helped push him over. He found himself nodding off as he was trying to read, snapping his head up as he realized the light in his room was still on. By the time a nurse came to turn off the light in his room, he was already out.

He snapped his head back up again, and closed his book. The light above him was flickering, and the eerie quiet that had taken over the wing acted as an immediate signal that made him feel like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, clutching her little terrier to her chest as she told Toto that she had a feeling they weren’t in Kansas anymore. He got up and walked out of the room, and noticed the hallway’s lighting, once bald fluorescent lights that made everything bright and sterile, were now cool and blue, washing the interior in deep, nightclub purples. Kurt took a deep breath, and walked down the hall, following the sound of an electric guitar playing, hoping to get whatever spectral conference that laid ahead of him over with.

As he continued in the direction of the common area, he picked up the sound of someone singing, their voice coming from deep in their belly, making it very clear that it wasn’t Buddy Holly. When he entered the common area, it was no longer the common area, but a club with a crowd, all seated at round tables, and on center stage, illuminated by a harsh spotlight, was a big man with a guitar, bopping back and forth as he played “Chantilly Lace;” the Big Goddamn Bopper.

The Bopper’s eyes scanned the room, and he laid eyes on Kurt as he finished his song, garnering a round of applause from the faceless crowd. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, smiling wide. “But I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this young fella over here, Mr. Kurt Cobain.” The spotlight swiveled over to shine onto Kurt, who shielded his eyes from the light. “Everybody give him a hand, won’t you?”

The crowd clapped and cheered harder, as the Big Bopper beckoned Kurt towards the stage. “C’mon up,” he said. “Say ‘hello’ to the people!”

Kurt approached the stage, and as he stepped up, the Big Bopper stepped aside, gesturing to him to approach the microphone. Kurt cleared his throat as he leaned in towards the mic. “Hello,” he said.

The crowd exploded in uproarious applause, whistling and hooting in adoration. Kurt smiled nervously as he tried to find a single face he could recognize, but the faces in the crowd were hard to make out in the darkness; they looked as though they were wearing masks with only vague hints at facial features.

“Say, Kurt,” said the Big Bopper, “would you like to play us a song?”

Kurt shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish. “I don’t have a guitar,” he said.

“Oh, we can fix that,” said the Big Bopper. A figure entered from stage right, and at first Kurt thought they were wearing some kind of dog mask, until they came fully into the light, revealing that they appeared to have the head of a jackal with ink-black skin, and wore an ancient Egyptian royal headdress and a powder-blue tuxedo. “Ole’ Anubi-Doobie’s got you covered, ain’t that right, Anubis?”

Anubis nodded, and presented Kurt with a guitar case. He opened it, and revealed a left-handed Les Paul Special with a vintage cherry red finish. Carefully, as though he were picking up his own child, Kurt lifted the guitar from its case, and held it in his hands, before swinging the strap over his shoulder.

“Wow,” said Kurt breathlessly, feeling the weight of the guitar, running his fingers over the strings and the tight, tiny coils that ran over each one. Anubis was still holding up the guitar case, and Kurt’s eyes caught sight of an ivory pick, sitting in the center of the black velvet interior. He plucked it out, and somehow, the guitar was already plugged into an amp when he brought the pick down over the strings.

The crowd cheered louder now, working themselves into a frenzy. Anubis shut the guitar case closed, and ran back offstage. The Big Bopper leaned toward the crowd with a hand cupped to his ear, and smiled wide, as the crowd began to chant, “TEEN SPIRIT, TEEN SPIRIT, TEEN SPIRIT!”

“No, I don’t… I don’t really play that one anymore,” said Kurt.

The Big Bopper pulled a comical shocked face, and put his hands on his hips. “Now, hang on a minute,” he said into his own microphone. “You mean to tell me you won’t even play your most popular song? The one that drives all the kids absolutely bananas?”

“I’m kind of sick of it,” said Kurt.

The crowd initially started to boo, but The Big Bopper pulled a sad puppy face, and the crowd shifted immediately into a sad and disappointed “awwww.” “Well, that’s a cryin’ shame,” said the Big Bopper. “Doesn’t seem right that you wrote a song so good and you don’t even wanna play it. Can’t you make an exception? Just this once, for the nice folks here?”

The entire club swelled with cheers of utter jubilation. “WE LOVE YOU!” someone shouted from the back, sounding as though they were nearly choked with tears. 

Kurt looked around the stage. “I don’t have the rest of my band with me...”

“That’s okay!” said the Big Bopper, “we got the Purple People Eater on the drums and the Witch Doctor on bass!”

Kurt turned around to see what appeared to be a man in a shaggy purple monster costume on the drums, wearing an oversized mask with a long yellow horn, a big green eye, and a set of jagged, pointy, white teeth. He looked to the other side of the stage and saw another man on bass guitar dressed up like a witch doctor, complete with a giant wooden mask, a skirt made out of leaves, and a necklace made up of chicken bones.

“Ready when you are, boss!” said the Witch Doctor in a chipmunk voice.

The Big Bopper stood beside Kurt with his own guitar, smiling wide. “C’mon, little man,” he said, “let’s rock this joint!”

As Kurt played the opening notes of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” the Purple People Eater and the Witch Doctor joined in without missing a single beat, and the crowd started to scream like bobby soxers. Kurt had played this song hundreds of times, but this was by far the weirdest rendition of it, made all the more weirder when the Big Bopper would lean into his own mic and sing along for the chorus. Any discomfort, however, was thrown by the wayside as the crowd roared. When the song ended with Kurt screaming out the last syllable of “denial” over fading guitar feedback, the mob in front of him clapped and whistled, screaming in ecstasy, and they began to chant “WE LOVE YOU! WE LOVE YOU!”

Kurt staggered back from the microphone in awe. For the first time in a long time, being in front of a crowd felt… good; really good, like warm and fuzzy good, and not like punching in and performing like a dancing monkey, or a theme park animatronic. Kurt went to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, but the Big Bopper stepped alongside him, putting a big hand on his shoulder. “Good night, everybody!” he said, as he led Kurt off the stage, the crowd still shrieking.

The Big Bopper ushered Kurt to the green room, where Anubis was waiting, sitting cross-legged on a couch and smoking a cigar. Bopper ignored the God of the Dead, and sat down in a different chair, taking off the guitar slung around him and setting it against the wall. “You have yourself a seat, Kurt,” he said. “You and me, we got some things to discuss.”

Kurt thought about sitting on the couch with Anubis, but thought better of it, taking a seat in a chair closer to the Big Bopper as he set down his own guitar so that it leaned on his chair. The Big Bopper leaned to the side, opening up a cooler and pulling out a can of beer; what brand it was, Kurt couldn’t tell, but Bopper tossed the can to Kurt and Kurt caught it with both hands before it hit his lap.

“Now,” said the Big Bopper, pulling out another beer for himself, “Word’s gotten around that you’re goin’ in for round 2 on life, is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Kurt, pulling the tab on the can and letting it open with a hiss and a metallic pop. “I’ve seen Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens and they’ve been trying to tell me not to talk to you. They keep telling me I should give up and die before I turn 28 or people are going to start dying.”

Bopper shook his head and sighed. “It’s a damn shame what happened to those two,” he said. “We used to be in it together, tryin’ to fix how things happened to us. Hell, the whole thing started out as Buddy’s idea.”

Kurt’s eyebrows arched. “Seriously?”

“He felt so bad for poor Ritchie,” said the Bopper. “He was just a kid, and Buddy and I, both our wives were expecting and I had a little girl at home, same as you do now. It didn’t seem fair. It took some figuring out, but eventually we managed to find a way to start again, right from that coin toss. But a change as big as that… well, everything changes, and Buddy couldn’t handle it very well. Too much guilt. People would die who wouldn’t have died before.”

The Big Bopper leaned back in his chair, opened his beer, and took a swig. “Thing is,” he said, “other people would also live when they should have died. Us just being around saved other people’s lives, but things would change every time, because Buddy was just never satisfied. He wanted the best possible outcome for everybody, but he got burnt out. It ground him down until all his optimism was just… gone.”

Kurt took a tentative sip of his beer and hunched over in his seat. He found himself pondering what it must have been like for Buddy to keep reliving his life over and over again, feeling like he screwed up every time, and the absolute hopelessness of the situation.

“Now, me,” the Big Bopper continued, “I managed to get probably the best possible life I could lead, which is more than Buddy and Ritchie were able to do. Ritchie… poor Ritchie, he never seemed to catch a break.” He shook his head. “But you’re not the only person to try this sort of thing, far from it, so I’ve made it my mission to try and help out folks like yourself and see if we can help you live the best possible life you can, maybe try and minimize any imbalances that this might have caused.”

“We?” Kurt looked over to Anubis, who was chewing on the end of his cigar, his eyes locked on Kurt. Though his head was that of a jackal, his eyes were eerily human. 

“Yeah, that’s Anubis,” said Bopper. “Well, if we’re really being honest here, I think he’s some kind of angel or something. He only looks like that ‘cause it’s a lot easier to understand what he’s all about when he looks like an ole’ Egyptian god and not something that looks like a floating, flaming jellyfish covered in wings and eyeballs… I think. Ya can’t really look at it for too long before you start feeling like your eyes are melting and your brain gets scrambled, but that’s as much as I’ve heard from other dead folks I’ve met, and trust me, they ain’t the same after looking at something like that for more than a second.”

“You meet a lot of other dead people?”

“Plenty,” said the Bopper. “I’d introduce you, but we don’t got all the time in the world. We got more important things to talk about.”

Anubis leaned forward and pulled up a briefcase from the floor onto his lap. He opened the briefcase, popping open the latches simultaneously, and opened it so that it was facing Kurt. Inside, somehow standing fully upright despite the spatial impossibility, was a set of golden scales that seemed to emit an unearthly glow as the green room lights dimmed. Kurt leaned forward, his eyes transfixed on the scales.

“The universe,” said the Big Bopper, “is all about balance. Even for the best possible outcome, sacrifices must be made. Nobody gets everything that they want.”

“What does that mean?” Kurt asked.

“Give him your heart, Kurt.”

Kurt looked to the Big Bopper in confusion. “My… heart?”

“Don’t make him reach in there and grab it from you,” said the Big Bopper. There wasn’t any hint of joviality in his voice anymore; his tone was flat, and threatening.

Kurt looked back to Anubis, who was staring at him expectantly.

“You want me to… give him my heart?” Kurt asked again.

“We don’t got all night,” said the Big Bopper. “Just reach in your chest, pull it out and give it to the guy. The more you think about it, the harder it’s gonna be.”

Kurt put a hand over his chest, right over his heart. It was thumping from inside, like a panicked bird beating its wings against the bard of a cage, trying desperately to get out. Without taking off his pajama shirt, Kurt slowly curled his fingers and sank the tips into his flesh. His heart was beating faster now, as his fingers sunk in like clay, reaching further and further until they could wrap around it. He felt as though he were holding a small, frightened animal in his hand, and with great effort, he pulled it out, slowly, as his heart was racing, and blood oozed down the front of his shirt. Weirdly, it didn’t really start to hurt until he pulled on the arteries and veins holding it in place, and as they snapped, he could feel them whip back in his body. The pain was sharp, and Kurt gritted his teeth and let out a long, drawn out, guttural wail as he managed to pull the organ from his chest, and the wound made a sucking sound as his heart was pulled free. Finally, the last of the arteries snapped, and his arm flung forward as he wrenched his heart free, but now he felt woozy from the effort. He tried to stand to his feet to walk over to Anubis, but instead flopped out of his chair and onto the floor, spilling his beer in the process, his bloodied arm still outstretched towards the god.

Anubis didn’t move from his seat, and simply stared.

Kurt gasped for breath, and uncurled his fingers, which caused his heart to roll out of his hand and tumble across the floor until it hit Anubis’ shoe. Anubis set the briefcase aside on the couch, and plucked up the heart from the ground. He examined it briefly before he set the briefcase back on his lap, and placed the heart on one end of the scales, causing them to tip from the new weight. Wordlessly, Anubis plucked a large feather from inside the briefcase, and gently placed it on the other end of the scales.

It was hard to focus on the balance between his own heart and the feather as Kurt tried to cover his wound with his hand as he gasped like a fish, but the scales were tipping back and forth, working out an equilibrium. The heart would rise, and the feather would drop, then the feather would rise, and the heart would drop. Kurt tried to catch a glimpse of the Big Bopper during this ordeal, but the Bopper wasn’t even looking at him; he was also looking at the scale. When Kurt looked back, the scales had settled. His heart was just slightly heavier than this magical feather, and from what Kurt remembered from reading about ancient Egyptian mythology from middle school, he was immediately overcome with a powerful sense of dread.

“Oof,” said the Big Bopper. “This is gonna be rough. Could be a hell of a lot worse, though.”

Rather than tossing Kurt’s heart into the jaws of some crocodile-hippo monster, Anubis picked up Kurt’s heart in his hand, and shut the briefcase. He set the briefcase down on the ground, and walked over to Kurt, stopping in front of him to tower over him. Kurt couldn’t say anything; he just lay there, struggling to breathe. Anubis nudged Kurt’s shoulder with the tip of his shoe to roll Kurt onto his back, and held Kurt’s heart in the air above him, before letting it drop directly into the hole in his chest. As his heart fell back in, he gasped for breath, and woke up in his hospital bed.

It took a moment for Kurt’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. He was completely drenched in a cold sweat, and his breaths were still shallow for a few seconds before his body remembered how to breathe properly again. He heard the sound of his door slamming shut, and in his waking state, he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not; he was far too concerned with feeling his chest to make sure there wasn’t a gaping hole in it. Once he was satisfied that his chest was intact, and that everything that just happened was, in fact, a dream, he groped around in the dark for his notebook. Even though it was dark and he could barely see, he flipped it open to a blank page and blindly wrote “PLAYED A SHOW WITH BIG BOPPER AND TORE HEART OUT OF MY CHEST FOR ANUBIS.” What he had actually wrote was nigh unreadable, but it was good enough. He shut the notebook, dropped it onto the floor, and laid back down. Falling back asleep, however, was difficult, and Kurt found himself awake, but drowsy, staring at the ceiling for who knew how long before he was finally allowed the mercy of drifting back into a much more peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this fucking kick-ass art from Tumblr user powermetalhag in exchange for helping beta one of their own fics, and I feel the need to share it with my audience for this story. 
> 
> https://powermetalhag.tumblr.com/post/633597159319683072/recently-i-did-an-art-trade-i-made-art-in
> 
> Please send her some love because this is sick as hell and I love it.


	12. Marigold

The next morning’s therapy session was notable for the marked absence of Maxine when Kurt arrived. He took the same seat he’d taken by Raven as he had last time, and looked around the room. Everyone else was quiet, and looked as though they were waiting for someone. Dr. Singh checked his watch, and frowned.

“Do we have to wait for her?” Billy groaned.

“Let’s wait for a few minutes more,” said Dr. Singh. “I feel we all need to be present to discuss what happened yesterday.”

Ned let out an annoyed snort, and Kurt noticed he bruising around his eye; it appeared that the frame of his glasses was smashed against his face from the force of the basketball. Ned was glaring at Billy as though he was trying to stop Billy’s heart from beating with the sheer force of his will, and Billy sheepishly tried to avert his gaze from falling onto Ned, while trying to pretend that wasn’t exactly what he was doing.

After about a full minute of awkward silence, the door opened, and Maxine came through the door, flanked by Randy and Mitch, both of whom had their gaze fixed on her as she took her seat in the last empty chair. Maxine appeared completely nonplussed, as though nothing had even happened. She noticed everyone in the room was now staring at her, and her upper lip curled into a defiant sneer. “What?” she asked. “What are you looking at?”

“Maxine,” said Dr. Singh, balancing his clipboard atop the top knee of his crossed legs, “so glad that you were able to join us.” His tone was authoritative, and stern. “Would you care to discuss what happened yesterday?”

“Why?” she asked. “You know what happened.”

“I know what others have told me, but I’ve not been able to hear it from you,” said Dr. Singh. “Might we hear your side of the story?”

Maxine quickly glanced around the room before she answered. “All I wanted was a cigarette,” she said. “Ned had some and gave one to Kurt, because Ned’s trying to kiss up to the guy who’s rich and famous. I called him out on what he was doing, it turned into a screaming match and then Billy started screaming at us and fucking bopped Ned with a basketball with his retard strength.”

“I am not retarded,” Billy growled through gritted teeth.

“Maxine,” said Dr. Singh, “That’s not appropriate--” but was quickly cut off.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t,” said Maxine, as she quickly moved on. “Ned wouldn’t give me a cigarette because I’m not some bigshot famous person he could use to elevate his social standing. That’s why people give famous people shit for free all the time when they could just buy whatever they want with all their money, because everybody wants that success to rub off on them. People turn into leeches and famous people turn into entitled assholes nobody likes because they become completely detached from the rabble that got them famous in the first place.” She was looking directly at Kurt as she said this, her eyes boring into him.

“And how can you speak for every single person who has ever gotten such acclaim?” asked Dr. Singh. “It seems rather presumptuous for you to assume the worst possible motivations of your fellow patients.”

“Because I’ve seen fame corrupt people,” said Maxine. “I was in the SoCal skating scene in the 80’s, when I was a teenager. I knew a lot of people in it before and after they got famous and started modeling clothes for magazines. They changed. Almost every single one of them changed for the worst, and Gator… Gator was the absolute worst. Fuck that guy.”

The room fell silent for a moment before Billy piped up. “Who’s Gator?”

“Gator the Skater,” said Raven. “He raped and murdered a girl three years ago, it was a pretty big news story. I remember seeing it on TV.”

Kurt shuddered. He remembered seeing television coverage of it, and the disgust he’d felt when he heard that the dude had performed every sex act he could think of on that girl before he dumped her corpse out in the desert, found only a month later so badly decomposed, she was basically just a skeleton. “You really think,” said Kurt, “that I’m on the same level as an absolute piece of shit like him?”

“I don’t know, Kurt,” said Maxine. “For all I know, maybe you are. Fucking rock stars and actors and celebrities are all about having and maintaining an image. Don’t tell me you haven’t ever lied to try and sell a version of yourself to the public. I heard you used to tell people you lived under a bridge, but that you lied about that. Gator lied all the fucking time.”

Kurt clenched his jaw, breathing slowly in an effort to remain calm. “So lying puts me on the same level as a rapist and a murderer?”

“Maxine,” said Dr. Singh, “surely you realize just how inappropriate a comparison that is?”

Maxine just shrugged, and ignored Dr. Singh. “Again, Kurt, I don’t know,” she said, and added, in a mocking, syrupy tone, “I’m sowwy if I hawt yaw feewings.”

Kurt leaned back in his chair, taking deep breaths through his nose. _ Don’t give her anything, _ he thought. _ She wants conflict. Don’t fucking give it to her. _

“Why do you gotta do things like this?” asked Deandra, mercifully cutting in. “Almost every single time we’ve had a group session, you gotta lash out at somebody for something. It’s not helpful to anybody, least of all you.”

“I don’t even wanna be here in the first place!” Maxine shouted. “I’m only here because I’m forced to be! I didn’t come here to hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with a bunch of cretins and people who just feel _ oh so very sad. _”

“Would you like to leave, then?” asked Dr. Singh. “Or would you prefer to stay and resolve this without having to go back under observation?”

Maxine snorted, and sulked into her chair until her head was nearly level with the top of the chair’s back. “Just lecture me already and get it over with,” she grumbled.

“I suppose I could give you a lecture,” said Dr. Singh, “but I’d rather ask you a question, that being, why must you react with such hostility? The way I see it, you have been graced with an opportunity, and while you’ve not been here for very long, you have been rejecting this opportunity since your arrival.”

“An opportunity for conformity,” said Maxine. She looked around the room, her eyes going from Raven, to Odette, to Kurt. “I mean, look at these ‘non-conformists.’ You got one who sold a platinum album and goes on MTV, another obsessed with video games and horror movies and comic books, and then a third who’s devoted to the same music listened to by a bunch of people who dress just like her ten years ago.”

“And yet you sought us out to hang out at recess yesterday,” said Odette, finally speaking up. She was sitting next to Valerie and her interpreter, and she signed as she spoke. “You came to us. You talk all this shit about how you’re such a non-conformist, such an intellectual who goes against societal expectations and how the rest of us all are posers, but it’s all projection.” Her hand movements seemed to stutter as she was trying to speak two different languages with different grammar at the same time, getting stuck on gestures until she was able to catch up, and signing after she finished speaking. “The reality is, you’re just as insecure and vulnerable as anybody else in this room. It’s just that some of us are able to actually admit that. You don’t.”

Maxine scowled. “You know she can read lips,” she said, tilting her head in Valerie’s direction. “I’ve seen her stare at people’s mouths when they speak. You don’t need to--” she started flapping her hands around in mock-sign, pulling an ugly, bug-eyed sneer as she did so. Valerie glowered back at her.

“It’s called courtesy,” said Odette, holding her right hand in the center of her chest with an open palm and her thumb in front of her sternum, tapping it twice. “Maybe it’s something you should learn.”

“Why should I?” asked Maxine. “Nobody’s ever given a shit about me unless they could use me, so sorry if I’m not compelled to be nice because of the power of friendship or some other bullshit. My family never cared about me, my piece of shit dad barely spent any time in jail for what he did to me, and my mom--”

“Are you sure you want to get into this while tempers are so flared, Maxine?” asked Dr. Singh, though it was less of a question and more of a warning. “I think, perhaps, it would be best if such matters were addressed when cooler heads prevail.”

The room fell quiet again, as Maxine silently fumed.

“Do we have to do this every time?” Kurt asked. “Because honestly, this doesn’t feel very helpful at all.”

“It’s a process,” said Deandra. “You’ve been here only three days.”

“I know,” said Kurt. “But… what if we just lay out everything instead of just dancing around it? Like we just be completely honest about why we’re here and what’s wrong with us?”

The group all looked around to each other, none of them quite sure how to respond. Dr. Singh, however, leaned forward with interest.

“Do you think that might be a bit too forward?” he asked.

“Maybe,” said Kurt. “Fuck it, I’ll go first, since some of you already know why I’m here. I tried to commit suicide because I’m a manic depressive heroin addict and I can’t handle being a big rock star. Oh, and I also I’ve been having these really vivid, realistic dreams about seeing ghosts telling me I should be dead because they’re mad I changed my mind at the last minute. So, that’s why I’m here. Now you know.”

More quizzical glances were exchanged by the rest of the group. No one said anything for a few moments, until Raven spoke up.

“You didn’t tell me about seeing any ghosts,” said Raven. “Whose ghosts are they? Anybody you know or are they just ghosts?”

“Uh,” Kurt hesitated for a second, before finally answering, “Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper, mostly. And Ritchie Valens. They all died in that plane crash together.”

“Have you seen any other ghosts?” asked Billy. “Like Elvis?”

“Yeah, no, I haven’t seen Elvis,” said Kurt.

“Then maybe he is still alive,” Billy muttered.

“Kurt,” Stephan said, finally breaking his silence, “have you considered getting an exorcism? I performed an exorcism once.”

“No,” said Kurt. “I don’t think that would help, but thanks for the offer.”

“I can cast out those demons,” said Stephan. “If you change your mind and you put your faith in Christ, you can be saved.”

“Thanks, Stephan,” said Kurt. “I don’t think you need to explain why you’re here.”

Stephan sighed. “I’m only here because the secularists refuse to take a true man of God seriously...” he paused for a moment. “… But also, there were some concerns from my younger sister after our mother departed from this world and I was unsure if she made it to Heaven.”

“So you lost your mom,” said Kurt.

Stephan nodded.

“I’m sorry for your loss, man,” said Kurt. “That’s gotta suck.”

“It… yes,” he said, trying to formulate a response. “It… it does _ suck _ . I fear that when it is my turn to die, I may not see her there in Heaven waiting for me, and this… well, caused a great deal of… I suppose you could say, _ stress, _ in me, and I did not take this stress very well. I acted in reckless ways that I admit were frightening to those who would be unaware of my predicament, and that is how I wound up hospitalized. It’s been through talking with Dr. Singh that I’ve realized that I must maintain a composure of calm if I am to convey my message to the masses.”

“What happened?” Kurt asked.

All eyes were on Stephan. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, and cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “I was on the roof of my apartment building, and unfortunately, someone thought that I may have had the intention of killing myself, but that’s not the case!” he added that last part quickly, before he continued. “I was merely trying to spread the Good Word, but someone thought I was a danger to myself or others, and the police were called, and in my euphoric state, I did not respond very well to the police being summoned. That… was eight months ago, and I have been here ever since.”

Kurt nodded, though he still felt he didn’t fully understand, he certainly understood him better now. Stephan, for his part, appeared as though he’d been relieved of an actual, physical burden, and let out a quiet “whew” as his entire body seemed to relax for the first time that Kurt had ever seen. Valerie, who had been goggle-eyed the whole time, whipping her head back and forth between her assigned interpreter and Stephan himself, was staring at Kurt in awe. Dr. Singh was studiously taking notes and was visibly animated.

“So...” said Raven, “uh, I’m here because I dropped out of college back in February, my parents pretty much think I’m a complete failure of a son, and this honestly beat being literally homeless and using angel dust to keep from freezing my ass off on the street.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “So, no, Stephan, I’m not a warlock, but there were a few days where I thought I was a vampire and I wound up here because an old lady saw me try and fail to eat a pigeon raw, so I can’t even be a vampire right.”

“Holy shit, you did not tell me about that last part,” said Odette.

“Why would I?” asked Raven. “I couldn’t keep hold of the fucking thing, it’s embarrassing!”

“So you’re _more_ embarrassed about _failing_ to eat a pigeon, than you would be if you managed to eat the pigeon?” Ned asked.

“At least if I had, that’d be kind of cool,” said Raven.

“No, no it wouldn’t,” said Ned. “That’d be fucking disgusting. Who in their right mind would try and brag about eating a rat with wings?”

Again, Raven just shrugged.

“That’s why you’d never see me fuck around with angel dust,” said Ned. “I’ve fucked with some nasty drugs, but not angel dust. Or meth. Or heroin, for that matter. Heroin scares the shit out of me.”

“It should,” said Kurt.

“Oh, it does,” said Ned. “I came in here after a bad cocktail of uppers and downers, but I’ve stayed here for the shit that drove me to drugs in the first place, and a lot of that is just shit like depression and anxiety. I’m still hearing about friends dying from AIDS or overdoses. That weighs on you, you know? But you take some quaaludes or snort a line of coke and then you can pretend all of that shit goes away for a while.”

“I just drank,” said Deandra. “I lost a lot of friends from AIDS as well, but I never got into hard drugs. Just a lotta wine. Sometimes rum, or whiskey, or vodka, but mostly just wine. Maybe it’s me being a hopeless romantic, but it dulled the pain. Getting drunk felt like it was more important than doing anything else. I lost my job, I lost my friends, my family had cut me off ages ago, and once I’d woken up after blacking out and robbing my best friend’s place for 50 bucks, I felt so disgusted with myself, that I decided to commit myself voluntarily.”

“Gotta say,” said Ned, “for bein’ the only person in this room that got their dick chopped off in Thailand, you somehow always seem to come across as the most normal.”

“I don’t recall, _ Edward, _ ever giving you permission to tell anybody about that,” said Deandra, slowly turning to look to Ned with a look of aggravation on her face.

“Wait,” said Billy, “Deandra’s a dude?”

“Or was a dude,” said Raven. “Clearly she’s not anymore.”

“Raven is correct,” said Deandra, sitting up tall and poised. “I am a transsexual.”

Billy seemed to consider this, his tongue poking around the inside of his cheek as he pondered the ramifications of this. “Huh,” he said. “So… do you have a vagina now?”

“A surgically made one, yes.”

“So can you have babies now?” Billy asked.

“Oh, Billy, sweetie, that’s not how that works,” said Deandra.

“Oh,” said Billy, sounding almost disappointed. “But… you do have a vagina.”

“Stop asking her about her vagina, Billy,” said Odette. “That’s really rude.”

“I’m just curious,” said Billy.

“Thank you, Odette, but I thought I should answer his questions, since we’re all taking turns being completely open and honest with one another here,” said Deandra. “Also, I know Billy well enough to know that he’s not meaning to be rude. He’s just a bit awkward. He kinda reminds me of one of my nephews.”

“I didn’t know you were a transsexual,” Kurt admitted, absentmindedly, just trying to offer something to the conversation.

“Well, that’s kind of the whole idea of getting things like hormone treatments and surgery,” said Deandra. “It’s so that you can’t tell and I can just look like every other woman. Unfortunately for me, Ned somehow just _knew_ shortly after we met and was sure to let me know it.”

“Look, I thought you were a drag queen!” said Ned defensively. “I thought your bait and tackle might still be intact, I stopped comin’ onto you when I found out they weren’t, so sue me!”

Deandra rolled her eyes and sighed. “Ugh,” she grunted. “_ Men. _”

Kurt’s first thought was to look at Stephan to gauge his reaction, but Stephan appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, no longer even paying attention to the session, but Dr. Singh, who was seated beside him, was watching all of this with great interest. Kurt’s eyes briefly met with Dr. Singh’s, and Kurt tried to see if he could read the doctor as he wrote on his clipboard, looking around the room to take in as much as possible.

Billy let out a dramatic, Charlie Brown-style sigh, signaling that he was ready to talk. “I’m here with my twin brother, Bobby,” he said. “He’s on the bottom floor, with the people Dr. Wallace monitors. He doesn’t really talk so good, and he freaks out real easy. He’ll talk to me a little bit but I don’t get to see him so much because I gotta work on myself and my own anger problems but I worry about him a lot. He’s… he’s got autism, like that movie _ Rain Man _ , except he talks less and I’ve never seen him be good at math, just repeats words a lot and punches himself in the head when he’s stressed out. Dr. Singh thinks that I have _ autism symptoms _ but they’re not as _ severe. _” Billy looked back to Dr. Singh for approval, and got a single nod from the doctor. “But yeah, we were living with our parents but they didn’t wanna take care of us any more, so we moved up here with our grandparents, and Bobby got upset ‘cause there was a bunch of fire engines on our street, ‘cause a neighbor’s house caught on fire, and he punched grandma when she was trying to calm him down and she got sent to the hospital and her eyeball got hurt real bad. He didn’t mean it, though, he just gets scared. He don’t know how strong he is.”

“You really do care about your brother a lot, don’t you?” asked Deandra.

“Yeah,” said Billy, nodding. “More than anything. I feel like I’m the only one that understands why he is the way he is. He just can’t help it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Odette quietly. “You’d have to be a little odd to be able to understand Bobby.”

“I guess I am,” said Billy with an air of resignation. “Didn’t you say _ you _ had a brother?”

Another hush fell over the room. Odette nodded. “I did,” she said.

Valerie put a hand on Odette’s shoulder and squeezed. Odette placed her hand over Valerie’s and let it stay there. “If any of you are wondering why I know sign language, it’s because he was deaf,” she said. “And unlike Val, he couldn’t read lips; he was born deaf. He also had a learning disability. He wasn’t… he wasn’t _ retarded _ or anything like that, he could be really clever, but he always had trouble learning new things, and when he’d get frustrated, he would storm off to be alone and usually just cry. He’d try his hardest but...” she stopped, and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is… this is a lot to talk about.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” said Kurt.

“No… no...” said Odette, shaking her head. “I mean, everybody else has, so I might as well, right?” She sniffled. “We… we got into a fight one night over something stupid. I wanted to go out and see a movie and he wanted to stay inside and play video games with me, you know, since there’s this one with a boss that gives audio cues when you’re supposed to hit it. I had this all planned out, me and my friend Missy were gonna see _ Batman Returns _ for her birthday.”

Valerie wrapped an arm around Odette, and rocked her lightly. Odette continued. “We fought and I just left, and like… why would I have even thought to call somebody to watch him, you know? He was 15 years old. I’d left him alone plenty of times and he was able to take care of himself just fine. I didn’t think he would do anything that would… oh god...” And she began to weep into Valerie’s shoulder.

There wasn’t anything anyone else in the room could do but simply wait. Stephan signed the cross and muttered prayers under his breath, and Deandra grabbed a box of tissues nearby and passed them down around the circle until they reached Valerie’s interpreter, who presented the box to Valerie. Val took out a handful of tissues and presented them to Odette, who used them to dab the tears and snot off her face. She let out a choked hiccup.

“He… he tried to run away from home,” said Odette, finally. “I think he was gonna go to somebody’s house, I don’t know, he didn’t leave a note, he just left and ran out into the dark. I just… I just remember coming back home and seeing the police cars in front of the house and an officer telling me my brother had been hit by a drunk driver… he’d been hit by a drunk driver while my parents were out of town and I was supposed to be watching him for the two weeks they were gone...”

“Jesus,” Ned said under his breath.

“You know that was not your fault,” Dr. Singh said. “It was an accident, Odette.”

“Everybody kept telling me that,” said Odette. “They kept telling me that but I always could tell they didn’t believe it, especially my mom.” She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to fight back against even more snot and tears. “She’s… she’s never treated me the same since. Everybody in my family is so _cold_ to me, now, and it hurts. I feel like they’d all be less miserable if I had died instead.” She looked up and met eyes with Kurt. “So you’re not the only one in here because you tried to kill yourself.” She let out a wheezy, sardonic laugh, and looked down at her feet, and she hugged herself.

“I’m sorry,” said Kurt.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Odette croaked.

“What was your brother’s name?” asked Billy.

Odette lifted her head up to look back up at Billy, and did her best to put on a brave face. “Toby,” he said. “His name is Toby.”

“Well,” said Billy, “I don’t know a whole lot about a lot of things, but I know that Toby loves you very much, and he doesn’t blame you at all for what happened.”

“And how could you possibly know that?” asked Odette.

Billy paused. “Just a feeling, I guess,” he said. “Because that’s how me and my brother feel about each other.”

Odette found herself smiling through her tears, and blew her nose in the tissue balled up in her hand. “Thank you, Billy,” she said.

Billy just gave a firm nod.

The mood in the room started to settle back down again, and the well of Odette’s tears had finally dried up. She gently pushed Valerie off of her, and signed the sort of kiss-blowing gesture that Kurt had seen from Raven just yesterday. Valerie gave Odette a reassuring pat in the shoulder.

The rest of the people in the room turned to look towards Maxine. She still sat in her chair, her arms crossed, slouching, still indignant as when she came in, though the pressure of so many eyeballs fixed on her was starting to weigh on her slender frame.

“Look,” said Maxine, “I’ll talk once everybody else has talked, and there’s one other person in here that hasn’t said a word.” She looked to Valerie.

“Everybody else in here is spilling their guts and you’re gonna still be an asshole and put the pressure on the girl that can’t talk?” Ned asked.

“I can talk.”

Everyone immediately turned the other way the source of the voice; Valerie. She let out a low hum, as though she were trying to test her volume by turning some unseen knob in her head, until she followed it up. “I can talk,” she said, her voice lowered, signing as she spoke. “I can’t… hear myself, or you. But I can talk.”

“Holy shit,” said Ned.

“I used… to be able… to hear,” she said, slowly, carefully, fully enunciating each word so that not a consonant was left out of place. “I got very sick, a long time ago. I was little. I got… men-ing-it-is.”

“Meningitis,” Odette quickly corrected, though it was more for the benefit of the others in the room.

“I got better,” said Valerie, still plowing forward with her speech, still signing, though Kurt noticed she was making more hand movements than she usually did, “but now... I can’t hear people talk. I can only hear things... if they are really, really loud, and even then… only a little. My mother tried to teach me how... to read lips. I got pretty good... at it. My daddy… didn’t want to learn how to sign. I had to learn… at school.” Her voice was high-pitched, almost child-like in its stops, as though she were in the third grade and reading out a presentation in front of the class. “I don’t… like my daddy very much. He was… an awful man, and did very bad things… to me.” She stopped abruptly, and looked to Dr. Singh. “I don’t… want to talk about… the things my daddy did… to me. Please.”

Dr. Singh nodded. “You don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to talk about,” he said, clearly mouthing each word.

“Thank you,” she said, signing back to him in kind with the blowing-kiss gesture. “I can read and write… better than I can speak. There are words… I don’t know how to say right. I have… a lot of… bad memories, from when I was little. But… I miss… being able to hear music… I can’t… hear it anymore… not really.”

Kurt thought back to the moment when he woke up on the floor of the greenhouse, his ear bleeding and the sound of tinnitus being the only thing he could hear, and the terror that gripped him as he thought of having gone deaf. Meanwhile, that was Valerie’s every day, though knowing that there was a time when she could hear added an element of tragedy to her lack of hearing; she’d heard music a long time ago, but now could not. He wanted to know what that experience was like. And though a part of him knew that peppering her with such questions would probably do little to quell the crush she clearly had on him… he still wanted to ask. He wanted to befriend her. Not speaking gave her an allure of mystery about her and Kurt, loathe as he was to admit it, was intrigued by it.

They probably wouldn’t see each other again once he got out, anyway, or any of the other patients here.

Valerie extended her arm, and pointed at Maxine. She was smirking. “Now you… have to talk,” she said, her eyes fixed on Maxine’s.

Maxine let out a sigh through pursed lips. “You ruined my plan,” she said. “I didn’t know that you could actually talk.”

“AH HA!” shouted Valerie, still pointing at her. “I... KNEW IT!”

“Yep, my machinations have been foiled,” she said, and began a lazy, slow clap. “Now no one will know I pushed my mom down the stairs and she broke her neck and she died.”

The dead silence returned, like a harsh wind blowing out all the candles in a dark room. Valerie didn’t pick up on what Maxine had said, since she spoke quickly and gave no other non-verbal signals as she spoke. Slowly, Valerie lowered her arm, looking around the room until her interpreter, the woman who’d been seated beside her the entire time and had been largely ignored, quickly signed what had been said to Val. Valerie looked back to Maxine in shock, and Maxine just smirked.

“How the fuck are you not in prison?” said Raven in a hushed voice.

“Self-defense,” said Maxine. “Took forever to prove in court, and they mandated that I stay here for at least six months. You guys happy now? Everybody’s dirty laundry is out. Mine too. Hope I ruined your day.”

An egg-timer went off next to Dr. Singh’s feet, and he picked it up to shut off its ringing. “I’m afraid,” he said, speaking up to direct everyone’s attention away from Maxine, “that is all the time we have for today. We’ll be meeting again tomorrow, but overall, aside from a few, shall we say, _ bumps _ in the road, this has been one of our most productive sessions we’ve had yet!”

Billy let out an amused snort, and looked at Maxine. “You’re a bump,” he said.

“Shut up,” snapped Maxine.

Dr. Singh stood up, and everyone else soon followed as they made their way out the room. “This session has concluded, you are all dismissed. I shall see some of you one-on-one later.” Kurt had already gotten up from his chair and was on his way to join the rest when Dr. Singh called out to him.

“Kurt, my boy,” he said. “Might I have a quick word with you before you go?”

Kurt turned and looked at the doctor, and walked back towards him, his hands shoved in the pockets of his pajama pants. “Yeah?” he asked.

As the door shut behind Stephan, the last one to leave, Dr. Singh leaned forward to be closer to Kurt’s height. “Kurt,” he said, “I must say, your conduct for this session was remarkable. I’m not joking when I say this is the most progress made in this particular group in months.”

“Really?” asked Kurt, in a state of genuine disbelief.

“Really,” said Dr. Singh. “I think you will do quite well here, young man. I would say that I expect great things of you but you’ve already made it very clear, not just to me, but to the _ entire world _ that you are more than capable of great things.”

Kurt stood there, trying to process this compliment. “You’re not just trying to butter me up?” he asked.

“Any buttering up being done on my part is being done solely for your benefit,” said Dr. Singh. “Someone as accomplished as yourself could stand to have a bit more self-esteem.”

Kurt let out a “pffft” noise, and smiled. “Sure thing, Doc,” he said. “I’ll see you later.” Dr. Singh waved to him as he left, and shortly after leaving a room, a nurse approached Kurt.

“Mr. Cobain?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“You have a visitor,” she said. “A young man named… David? Growl?”

“Grohl,” Kurt corrected her. “Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s by your room,” said the nurse. “Shall I take you to him?”

Kurt shrugged. “Sure,” he said, though he would have been able to navigate the building back to his room by himself. “Lead the way, ma’am.”

“Of course,” she said, and scurried off, with Kurt following not far behind.


	13. Head Check

“Kurt! Hey!” Dave was half inside Kurt’s room, waving his entire arm as Kurt approached. “How have you been, buddy?”

“I’m alive,” Kurt said in response, smiling. “Yourself?”

“I’m doing good, man,” said Dave, stepping aside as Kurt approached the door to his room. “Took a lot of what you had to say to heart. I’ve been working on some songs.”

“Nice,” said Kurt. “Anything you can show me?”

“Funny that you mention that,” said Dave, pulling out a cassette tape from his pocket. He handed it to Kurt. “It’s super rough, but I think I have the start of something. Not sure what to do with it yet.”

Kurt sat down on the bed as he popped the tape into his Walkman, slipped on his headphones, and pressed “play.” It was only a single acoustic guitar, D chord, fluttery and yet grounded at the same time, as Dave sang softly. There were parts where he had lyrics pinned down and sang with confidence, others where he mumbled placeholders, but once the song jumped into the bridge, Kurt felt his scalp tingle as Dave confidently belted out the chorus. It was good. It was _ really _ fucking good, the kind of song that could be a hit, the kind that you could play in front of a swarm of thousands of people and they’d scream it back at you in unison, knowing every single word. The song faded out, and Kurt stopped the tape, opening it up. 

“What’s the verdict?” Dave asked. He stood over Kurt expectantly.

“You need to record this,” said Kurt. “This… this is special. What’s it called?”

“‘Everlong,’” Dave replied. “That’s not derivative, is it? I kind of realized after the fact it sounds kind of like ‘Nevermind.’”

“No, it’s… it’s good,” said Kurt. “This is… really, _ really _fucking good.”

Dave’s face seemed to glow, as though he were a child being presented with a waggly, new puppy. “Really?” he asked.

“I’m dead serious,” said Kurt. “You need to make this a thing. You were telling me you wanted to start your own band? You need to record this with them. This isn’t a Nirvana song. This is _ you. _”

Dave’s smile took over his entire face and he took back the cassette tape. “Holy shit,” he said breathlessly. “That… thanks, man. I was thinking if it came down to it I’d just record all the instruments myself...”

“If that’s what you gotta do, man, then that’s what you gotta do,” said Kurt. 

“I kind of want to just… do that,” said Dave, “just so that I can say that I did it, you know?”

“Then do it.”

“Then I will!” said Dave, arms akimbo, striking a dramatic pose. “And I’ll show the world just what I can do!”

“With the power of rock ‘n roll on your side!” said Kurt. “And… friendship.”

Dave snickered. “Friendship?”

“Seemed like something Krist would say,” Kurt said.

“Heh, probably,” said Dave. “He saw you yesterday. How’d that go?”

“It went pretty good,” said Kurt, trying to keep his face looking as neutral as possible. “He brought me a book, we talked a lot, and he’s gonna bring me one of my guitars when he comes back again.”

“That’s great!” said Dave. If he had noticed that Kurt was trying to hide anything, he certainly didn’t give it away. “I called him last night and we talked about it a little bit.”

“Did he say anything?” asked Kurt, perking up slightly.

“Eh, he kept it brief. I don’t wanna go snooping around in whatever is going on between you guys. He sounded a little worried, though, but you seem to be doing okay. I figure he’s probably just stressed over the whole thing.”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah,” he said. That’s all Dave really needed to know, at least for now.

“You still seeing visions of Buddy Holly’s face in your dreams?” asked Dave.

Kurt made the mistake of going quiet for just a moment too long before he tried to loudly clear his throat in an attempt to gloss over this question. “No, no,” said Kurt. “No, I’m… I’m not...”

Dave looked at Kurt with an unmistakable skepticism, but he shrugged it off. The entire time, Dave had been on his feet, pacing occasionally as they talked, but he now stood completely still. It was clear to both of them that Kurt had lied and Dave did not believe him; this kind of exchange was all too common between not just Kurt and Dave, but Kurt and Krist, Kurt and Courtney, Kurt and his mother, Kurt and every single one of his friends, Kurt and pretty much the entire world. And though Dave was entirely used to being lied to and having to just shrug it off lest it lead into a confrontation, he seemed puzzled, for a moment, since the factor of heroin was completely removed from this equation. Kurt could almost see Dave putting together his question with the phone call he must have had with Krist last night, trying to form some kind of idea of what happened.

Eventually, Dave just shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “anything else going on with you?”

Kurt’s eyes fell on the open door, and there, walking by and whistling a tune, was Ned, coming from the direction of the recreation area. Kurt pointed at him. “This guy!” said Kurt.

Ned stopped mid-step, and turned to look into the room. His eyes went from Kurt, to Dave, to Kurt again.

“This guy,” said Kurt, gesturing to Ned, “wants to help us build a website for the band.”

“Website?” Dave asked. “Like a world wide web, website?”

“Uhhhh, yeah,” said Ned, who seemed about as caught off-guard as Dave. “I was talking to your friend Blondie here the other day and mentioned I work with computer technology. Who are you?”

“I’m Dave,” said Dave, pointing at himself with his thumb. “I’m the drummer.”

“Oh,” said Ned, sizing Dave up. “I saw another one of your pals yesterday, the real tall one, what’s he play?”

“That’s Krist, he’s our bassist,” said Dave.

“Seemed to be a lot more than that,” said Ned wryly.

Dave looked at Ned, confused. “Wait,” he said, turning back to Kurt, who was fully focused on Ned, just glaring at him. “Did I--?”

“Never mind,” said Ned, waving dismissively. “Did you just call me over to talk to your drummer about me possibly setting you guys up with an actual website? Because I was just kind of going off, and the technology is still rather new, and… honestly, do either of you know anything about the internet at all?”

Both Kurt and Dave shook their heads.

“Look,” said Ned, “I’m sure there exists a Usenet board about your band. Like, there can’t not be, right? It’s not like I can check because this place isn’t equipped with computers that have a dial-up connection. I’d have to be out of here with a clean bill of mental health, and even then, people are just gonna use the board instead of anything too high-tech like an actual website. Much easier to stick with Usenet or a BBS, they’re far less intensive.”

Dave shot Kurt a pleading look, as if to ask silently why he had summoned this nerd in to jabber at them. Kurt could only offer a shrug.

“So what are you saying, then?” asked Kurt.

“I’m saying that if you want to hire me to build this website, it’s something that might be, I dunno, two, maybe three years off from now?” said Ned. “Granted, I could work faster, but it’s not gonna get a whole lot of visitors if I get this thing up and running by say, the beginning of next year.”

Kurt looked to Dave, whose head had lolled back as though he were trying to fight off the urge to just fall asleep standing up. 

“Okay,” said Kurt. “Thanks, Ned. I was just talking to Dave about what’s been going on with me, and you walked by, and I figured you could explain the website stuff to him better than I could.”

Ned looked back to Dave, who whipped his head back upright, letting out a snort as he did so. Dave, unsure what to do as Ned eyed him, tried to put on a non-threatening smile.

“You tell him I got hit in the face with a basketball?” asked Ned.

“Nah, but that got discussed in group therapy already,” said Kurt. “But yeah, Dave, he did get hit in the face with a basketball by one of the other guys here.”

“Oh,” said Dave. “That’s… cool?”

“Speaking of therapy,” said Ned, “your buddy, here? He managed to somehow steer the whole thing into being productive. Dr. Singh just seems way too eager to just watch everybody fight like we’re in some kinda nature documentary. This guy, he managed to get the guy who thinks he can talk to Jesus to not call me a sodomite for an entire session. That’s impressive.”

“It just seemed like you guys just needed to say stuff and have somebody listen,” said Kurt.

“Yeah, well, hopefully you can work your magic on that bitch Maxine,” said Ned. “I’d say I don’t know what her problem is, but we all found out what her problem is. Surprised you didn’t step in to defend your new fangirl.”

“You got a fangirl here?” asked Dave.

“Oh, he does,” said Ned, “and get this; she’s deaf. She doesn’t even know who your buddy here is and she’s completely twitterpated.”

“She has a crush,” said Kurt. “I don’t know why.”

“Sure ya don’t,” said Ned. “Was that all you needed me for? Because I was headed for the vending machine before you pulled me in to talk tech with Little Drummer Boy over here.”

“Yeah, you’re good, Ned,” said Kurt. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Alright,” said Ned, “you know where to find me, Blondie. And nice to meet you, Dave.” He walked back out into the hall, and resumed his whistling to himself.

Dave stood there, mouth agape for a few moments, before he turned back to Kurt. “So… what was all that?”

“What was all what?” Kurt asked.

“That, with that guy,” said Dave. “What’s his deal? And what did he mean about Krist?”

“I’ll… tell you about that later,” said Kurt, pulling up his feet onto the bed so that he was sitting Indian-style.

“Okay,” said Dave. He looked around the room, pacing until he was closer to Kurt, and stopped short of the bed. “Can I sit down, or…?”

“Please,” said Kurt.

Dave breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down beside Kurt. The two of them didn’t say anything for a moment before Dave piped up. “So… have you heard anything from Courtney?”

“No,” said Kurt. “I guess she’s just been busy. Things were kind of tense between the two of us.”

Dave nodded. That, at least, didn’t need any further explanation. “Listen” said Dave, “you know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know,” said Kurt.

“I’m just saying because… I feel like there’s a lot of stuff that you’re holding back,” said Dave. “And if you just don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but I kind of wish you would just say so, you know? Because I just feel like there’s a lot more going on than you’re telling me, and I just wish you could either tell me, or just tell me that it’s none of my business and you just don’t want to tell me, for whatever reason.”

Kurt began to gnaw on his thumbnail, his eyes focused on the floor. “Yeah...” was all he could get out.

“And it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me now, or ever, I just… I just want you to tell me, I guess, ‘cause I’m worried. I care about you a lot and I want to help you, you know.”

“I know,” Kurt said again. “I know. I just don’t want to worry you, is all.”

“Yeah, and keeping things from people in order to keep them from being worried only makes people more worried,” said Dave.

“I just want you to make songs,” said Kurt. “I really like what I heard and I wanna hear more, and I don’t want you to get bogged down by me and my problems.”

“And I can’t help but feel like I wanna help you out with your problems,” said Dave.

Kurt caught a hangnail between his teeth, and managed to yank it out before spitting it across the floor. He examined his thumb, and saw the blood starting to pool from the tiny wound. He sucked on the corner of his thumb, lapping up the blood, and then ran the tip of his index finger over the spot. Dave, without a word, immediately got up, went into the bathroom, and came back with a single ply of toilet paper all wadded up. Kurt took it from him and used it to stop the bleeding. “Thanks,” he said.

“Should I bring a pair of nail clippers in next time I’m here?” asked Dave.

“Nah, that’s alright,” said Kurt, hiding his thumb and the toiler paper in his fist. “I’d like to have a tape recorder, though. Think you can get me one of those.”

“Sure!” said Dave. “Though I think Krist or your mom probably will be back before I am. But you can call me anytime if there’s anything you need at all. Just let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kurt. “There’s a lot of things that I wanna tell you, Dave, but… I don’t think I’m ready yet. I wanna tell you when I’m out on the other side of this, once I’m better. Is that okay?” He looked up to Dave.

Dave considered this, before giving Kurt a solemn nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. “And also… could you give me a copy of that demo?”

Dave’s face broke out into that familiar, wide, toothy grin. “I would be fucking delighted,” he said.

~

Dave’s visit was brief, but it was not the last time he’d come by to visit. Over the next two weeks, there was a sort of normalcy that had taken hold during Kurt’s stay. Every morning Kurt would be woken up around 9 AM, have breakfast, and then group therapy at 11 AM. Everyone would talk about their deepest, darkest feelings for an hour, Maxine would predictably put up the most resistance, and then they were free for the rest of the day, monitored by orderlies and, on some days, Kurt would be taken in for one-on-one counseling.

He noticed after he mentioned the vivid dreams about Buddy Holly and his plane crash buddies, he was prescribed new medication that suppressed the vivid dreams he’d been having, which was fine with him; he didn’t need to be judged by Buddy for ripping out his own heart and handing it to Anubis only for his heart to be slightly heavier than an ostrich feather, and whatever that implied. Each day had a recess, and some kind of scheduled activity that, while optional, Kurt found himself attending more and more; painting, exercises, and visits from therapy dogs (no cats, however, to Kurt’s dismay).

The Bingo games would be pretty much only attended by the older patients that Kurt has little interaction with, aside from watching Raven fuck with Lester and the latter man devolving into frenzied screaming at Raven, and any movie nights that were allowed were almost entirely PG only, with the majority of the films being made before 1970 and being mostly forgettable dramas and romance films, though the drawing table regulars did stick around for a showing of the original version of The Fly. Billy in particular was fascinated by the ending, sometimes imitating the high pitched cries of Dr. Delambre shrieking “Help me! Help me!” under his breath as he worked on his own drawings, much to the amusement of Raven. And once Krist had brought Kurt his acoustic guitar, Kurt found himself giving unplugged performances from his room, with him perched on his bed, and his audience, usually varying between two to six people, sitting around the floor, listening. Odette, of all people, never missed out on one of these performances, and would request songs from him by the artists she loved; The Smiths, The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Depeche Mode, Joy Division and Bauhaus. Not exactly Kurt’s speed, but she would record Kurt’s covers using the tape recorder that was also supplied by Krist, and rewarded him with marker drawings of eerie suburban landscapes and portraits of girls with big, sad eyes, including one her requested of Courtney that he taped above his bed, which Odette had rendered in red, pink and yellow marker.

Valerie, oddly, also attended these performances, though Kurt initially wasn’t sure what she was getting out of it until she presented him with drawings of himself, playing guitar. One night she came in and asked him to play, lying down on the bed with her head right up next to the bottom of the guitar, he hand pressed against the wood and her eyes fixated on the strings and the movement of Kurt’s hand as he played. He wanted to ask her what she was able to get from just feeling the vibrations, but he’d look down to her and she would just stare back up at him, fawning over him. That same night, he asked if she could draw Courtney for him. She offered him a quick, rather sloppy sketch that lacked the attention to detail that defined her drawings of Kurt. When he offered a photo of Francis instead (one brought over during a visit by his mother), Valerie seemed much more eager and produced what was definitely Kurt’s favorite of the art pieces he’d collected since his arrival, a head shot of Francis, looking to the viewer.

There were many other drawings on the wall besides the ones gifted to him by Odette and Valerie; though the rest were from either Raven or Billy. Raven’s style was heavily inspired by comic books, with big, thick lines creating musclebound figures with dynamic and dramatic poses and twisted-looking monsters with impossibly grotesque anatomy, all looking a lot like a Spider-Man comic that Kurt had flipped through in some drug store a year or two back, where Spidey was faced against some dude named Venom that had a gigantic mouth with jagged teeth and a tongue like a whip. Billy, on the other hand, not only drew a bunch of dragons with titties, but also Tiny Toons characters with titties, Sonic the Hedgehog cartoon characters with titties, and basically just a lot of Disney-eyes animal women with titties. When asked one day if cats were, in fact, one of Kurt’s favorite animals, Kurt replied that they were, and was rewarded with a pin-up of a cartoon cat woman wearing a bikini. It actually was an improvement from the initial dragon woman that Kurt had first seen him drawing; the proportions weren’t as off and the perspective wasn’t as skewed. If nothing else, it made for a good conversation piece whenever he had visitors.

Most nights when his mother didn’t visit, he’d be notified by one of the nurses that he had a call from her, and would spend around a half hour by the front desk, making idle chat with his mother and saying hi to Francis. Francis hasn’t been brought in to visit him yet, but hearing her on the phone as she eagerly tried to form words made his heart swell with love and pride. Two weeks of this had gone by, however, and he still hadn’t gotten any calls from Courtney. He’d ask about her to his mother, get the same response over and over again, that she was busy, and that his mom would pass along Kurt’s progress to her. His mom seemed aware that there was some unresolved tension between the two of them, but she didn’t do much to acknowledge it, let alone ask Kurt about it. Kurt tried to call Courtney’s beeper once from the desk phone, only to get a response back from a nurse that Courtney’s manager had called, that she was too busy to talk, but that she hoped he was recovering well and would see him “soon,” though how soon was “soon” was never said.

At night, Kurt would tweak the lyrics he’d been working on, and he finally had a list of potential song titles for a new album release, titles like “Robin’s Egg,” “Lucy Goosey,” and, most amusingly to himself, “Pillow Biter.” And then light’s out would be called, and after taking his medication, Kurt would try to get some sleep, though many times, he’d be interrupted by Raven asking him if he wanted to sneak over to the vending machine and try to steal snacks out of it. One time Ned had poked his head in and offered to either suck Kurt’s dick or let Kurt suck his dick, whichever one he preferred, in exchange for an entire pack of cigarettes, only for Kurt to decline and insist he was saving himself for Krist. “I want it to be special,” he’d replied, already feeling the effects of his meds.

“Fair enough,” Ned had replied. “You seem out of it anyway. But if you change your mind...”

Kurt dismissed him with a wave of his hand. That had been a few nights ago. But now Kurt was two weeks into his stay in the psychiatric wing, starting to drift off, but not quite there yet. Patients weren’t supposed to be out and about after lights out, but without locks on the doors, patients would sneak from room to room regardless, careful not to get caught. Maxine in particular was especially guilty of this and one time Kurt had joined her, only for the two of them to step out into the courtyard at night, looking up at the sky while she pondered aloud how feasible it would be to jump the fence. In fact, from Kurt’s position in the bed right now, he saw a shadow slink down the hall from the crack beneath his door, and guessed it was probably her. He let his eyes lose focus, when he saw his door open a crack. Kurt blinked to clear his vision, and saw Billy, of all people, poking his head in.

“Kurt,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You asleep yet?”

“Nyuh?” Kurt grunted, lifting up his head slightly. “Whaddya want?”

“I need your help,” said Billy. “I need to get downstairs.

Kurt propped himself up in bed by his elbows, still reluctant to get up out of bed. “Can this wait until tomorrow?” he asked.

Billy shook his head. “They’re gonna do something to him tomorrow,”

“What do you mean?” asked Kurt.

“I heard they were gonna give him the electroshock,” said Billy.

Kurt sat up fully. “They still do that?”

“Yuh-huh,” said Billy. “They did it before and he freaked out and they had to strap him down.”

“So… what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to help me bust him out.”

“Bust him out… to where?”

“I dunno… out!” said Billy. “Like when you talked about how you escaped rehab by climbing the fence.”

“And… what are you going to do?” asked Kurt.

“Go with him,” said Billy. “He can’t go by himself.”

“So… you want me to go to the lower floor… and help bust you and your brother out of here,” Kurt said, more for it to make sense in his medication-fogged brain.

“Yeah,” said Billy. “Will you?”

Immediately, Kurt found himself regretting ever lending that copy of _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _ to Billy. At the same time, however, memories of treatments Kurt had undergone as a child flashed through his mind, and the feeling of terror he’d felt then was not hard to project onto Bobby, a man who, by all accounts, appeared to have the mind of a young child. Kurt had never even met Bobby, though he was curious about him. And surely medical technology had improved since the 70’s, right? Maybe Bobby just needed to be reassured that it wouldn’t be so bad… hopefully. Kurt hadn’t been subject to electroshock since he came here, and he was hoping he wouldn’t have to be, but he’d only heard stories about the lower floor, where the patients were heavily medicated and unable to function in normal society at all, and would likely be in a hospital or some kind of institution for the rest of their lives. Actually, the more he thought about this, the more he wanted to bust Bobby out.

“Look” said Kurt, pinching his fingers over the bridge of his nose, “I’m very, very tired, Billy. What is it you want me to do?”

“Come with me,” said Billy. “I got a hold of a key card, I just need another pair of eyes to look out.”

“How did you do that?” Kurt asked.

“I just took it off of him two days ago,” said Billy. “I’ve been hiding it in my room. They still don’t know. Now c’mon.”

Kurt got up out of bed, and shuffled over to the door. “Just so you know,” he said, “this is probably a bad idea.”

“Are you afraid you’re gonna get in trouble?” asked Billy.

“Maybe,” said Kurt.

“You could come with us.”

Kurt shook his head. “No,” said Kurt, “I said I would stay until I got better. I wanna help you out but if this goes tits up, don’t say I didn’t say anything.”

“Sure,” said Billy. “Let’s go.”

Kurt slipped out of his room, looking up and down the hall to see if anybody was looking. The hall appeared empty, though at the far end of the hall, in the direction of the rec room and the entrance to the wing, he could see a dim light coming from what was probably the desk at the front. Keeping this in mind, Kurt tread lightly, tip-toeing behind Billy as he headed in the opposite direction of the light, towards the steel door that led to the stairwell. As they approached the door, even in the low light, Kurt saw a bright red sign with large, white letters with a warning that the door was set up with an alarm. Billy fished out the key card from the pocket of his hospital pants, and slid it into a flat, black card reader. It let out an electrified buzzing sound as the little indicator light on top switched from red to green. Billy looked back to Kurt and grinned as he pushed on the metal bar and opened the door.

The lights in the stairwell flickered to life, and as Kurt stepped inside, Billy slowly shut the door behind them, trying to make as little noise as possible. Despite how softly Kurt descended the stairs, the sound of his bare feet hitting the concrete steps still echoed throughout the stairwell, and Billy’s footsteps were clumsier, louder, less cautious. When they reached the door to the lower floor, Billy pressed against the metal door and opened it, letting the light flood down into the hallway.

The hallway on the bottom floor looked almost identical to the hallway on the floor above. Kurt stepped out of the stairwell, sliding his bare foot across the linoleum, and heard a groan from one of the rooms. Kurt flinched at the sound, and nearly jumped at the sound of Billy closing the door behind them.

“Which room is he in?” Kurt whispered.

“Uh… hold on...” said Billy. He looked around, wetting his lips with his tongue, clearly fretting as he tried to jog his memory.

“Do you seriously not remember?” Kurt asked.

“I know he’s on this side,” said Billy, pointing to the right side of the hall. “Towards the end. Follow me.”

With each step Kurt took as he followed Billy, he became increasingly aware of how much he wanted to just turn around and run back up to his room, but at this point, it was too late; pressing on the steel bar to open the door would set off the alarm and alert the entire wing, possibly even the entire hospital, of what they were up to. Kurt noticed the doors down here were different than the ones upstairs; most notably, they had tiny glass windows that Billy was peering into to check who was inside, but also every door had a similar key card lock. Billy had checked five doors before he stopped on one, bouncing up and down and pointing to Kurt. “He’s here!” he said, and motioned Kurt to look into the window.

The window was about the height of a standard sheet of paper, but more narrow, and placed around eye-level. Inside the room, lying on the bed without any sheets, was a figure that Kurt could only assume was Bobby. He looked to be about Billy’s height and weight, and he looked to be asleep, though he was twitching and flapping his limbs like an old dog dreaming about chasing rabbits. Billy gently pushed Kurt aside as he stepped in front of the door, and slid the key card into the reader again. The door buzzed and the green light switched on, and Billy turned the handle to the door, and poked his head in. “Bobby,” he whispered. “Pssst! Bobby!”

Bobby’s entire body jolted, and he looked around the entirety of the room before his eyes landed on Billy. “BILLY!” he shouted, loud enough to wake everyone on the floor. Bobby took a flying leap off the bed like an ape, and stopped just short of the door. “BILLY! BILLY!” he continued to shout, as Billy tried to shush him. A light went on down the hall, and Kurt recoiled.

“Shhhh, Bobby, shush!” hissed Billy. “We’re gonna get you outta here, just come with me, and--” Billy reached to grab Bobby’s hand, but Bobby had finally taken notice of Kurt and let out a surprised yelp.

“WHO IS THAT?” he shouted, and pointed at Kurt.

“It’s my friend Kurt, he’s helping us,” said Billy. “Kurt, ya gotta introduce yourself.”

Kurt was more focused on the sounds of multiple footsteps making their way toward the source of the noise. “Can’t do that right now, Billy, we gotta go now--”

“He’s not gonna move until you introduce yourself!” said Billy, clearly frustrated.

“We need to go _ now, _ Billy!”

“WHO IS THAT?” Bobby shouted again. The other patients on the floor began shouting and screaming in response, including one man who was hollering at the top of his lungs, pounding on the walls and sounding like a rabid animal.

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, I’M GONNA KILL YA!”

“What the hell is going on?” someone shouted. The voice was familiar, either Randy or Mitch, Kurt didn’t remember which one.

“Please!” begged Billy. “Just stick out your hand and introduce yourself, he won’t calm down until you do!”

Not feeling like questioning the logic of this in favor of making a getaway, Kurt looked to Bobby. “Hello, my name is Kurt,” he said, trying not to panic, “it’s nice to meet you, can we please go now?”

“You need to shake his hand,” said Billy.

“What, seriously?”

“That’s what makes it official!”

Kurt let out a long sigh, and stuck his hand out to Bobby. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Please, we gotta hurry.”

Bobby stared at Kurt’s hand, his mind clearly racing. In his frustration, he raised his own head, and started punching himself in the temple, as though he were pounding on an old television set to clear the static in his head. A pair of flashlights fell onto Billy and Kurt, and Billy shrieked.

“PLEASE,” Kurt begged, his hand still out.

Bobby stopped punching his head and finally took a hold of Kurt’s hand, nearly crushing it in a death grip. With lights finally on Bobby, Kurt noticed that he looked like a wilder version of Billy, with long, unkempt hair and a beard that radiated off of his face like oakmoss. Kurt let his arm go limp as Bobby aggressively shook Kurt’s hand to the point where Kurt helplessly let the top half of his body bobble up and down.

“Good, good,” said Kurt, “now let’s--”

Light flooded into the room, and Bobby panicked, yanked Kurt’s arm forward as he ran out the room past him. Kurt hit the floor, face-first, and was still on the ground when he heard the door behind him slam shut. Immediately, Kurt scrambled to his feet and put his face on the window, pounding on the inside of the door.

Outside, Kurt caught a glimpse of Randy and Mitch trying to get a hold of the twins. Billy tried to open the door to let Kurt out, but was being tackled by one of the orderlies as he protested. Bobby, meanwhile, was clobbering the living fuck out of the other orderly, straddling the man as he wailed into his face with both of his meaty fists, screaming all the while. Billy screamed for help, and Bobby hopped to his feet, cold-clocking the other orderly in the side of the head and sending the man crumpling to the ground as his legs gave way. Billy staggered back into view, and doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

“Let me out!” Kurt shouted, pounding on the door.

“Yeah… let you out… hold on...” Billy patted himself down for the key card, but couldn’t find it. “Shit, where is it?”

“Use one of the other guys' cards!” Kurt said.

Bobby started screaming again, and ran off in the direction of the stairwell. “BOBBY, NO!” Billy shouted. Billy pressed himself up against the door, and looked Kurt in the eye through the glass window. “I’m sorry… I gotta go after him, I can’t leave him on his own...”

“Just open the door!” Kurt begged.

The fire alarm immediately went off, and the lights in the hallway came on all at once. Billy screamed as he ran after Bobby in the direction of the stairwell. “Shit!” Kurt muttered, and tried the handle again, only to lean on it too hard and tumble out the door. Kurt paused for a moment, trying to process what had just happened, before he noticed that the other patients were figuring out, one by one, that their doors had unlocked as well. Kurt was about to bolt for the stairwell door when he was tackled from behind onto the ground, the entire weight of some 200 lbs man crushing into him and pinning him against the floor, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“You stay right where you fucking are,” Randy or maybe Mitch growled, pulling Kurt into a headlock, blood gushing out of the fresh wounds on his face. “You’re not going anywhere, you little fartsucker.”

Kurt gasped for breath as Randy or Mitch held him in place as they called for backup. It didn’t take long for an entire gaggle of night shift staff to rush in and start corralling the herd of agitated mental patients back into their rooms; some nurses were able to talk some of them back inside, while others had to come at them with brooms to back them in as though they were ornery raccoons being driven away from overturned trash cans. The orderly on top of Kurt let off of him just enough to yank Kurt to his feet, but pulled him back into a headlock. Kurt kicked his legs uselessly to try and knock him in the shins, but failed.

“This is one of ‘em!” he shouted to another orderly. “The other two were those twins and they ran off. The hairy one knocked out Mitch.”

“Shit,” said a nurse. “You page Dr. Wallace?”

“I would have but I got my hands full,” said Randy. “C’mon, you little fuckface, you’re with _ me _ now.” He stepped into a crab walk, pulling Kurt along with him, until he came across a nurse wheeling in a gurney with restraints. Wasting no time at all, Randy slammed Kurt down onto the gurney, and started strapping him down, joined quickly by the nurse who had brought the gurney in.

“Let me go!” Kurt shouted. “I’m not even on this floor!”

“Doesn’t matter, asswipe, you’ve fucked up big time,” said Randy, keeping Kurt pinned down with his elbow as he tightened the strap around Kurt’s wrist. “Your fucking stardom’s not gonna save you now.”

“I’m not even violent, just let me go back up to my room, asshole!” Kurt shouted, thrashing against the restraints. His other wrist was already strapped in, and two more guys were now strapping in his ankles.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t,” said Randy sarcastically. Kurt was fully strapped in place now, and Randy chuckled as Kurt writhed underneath the restraints.

“I just paged Dr. Wallace,” said the nurse from earlier. “Hopefully he should be here soon.”

“Good,” said Randy, who smirked through the blood on his face. “See ya, grunge bum,” he said, as Kurt was wheeled off to another part of the wing.

This was all happening too fast. “Look, just call Dr. Singh, okay?” Kurt tried to reason with the nurses wheeling him through the unit. “I’m not violent, okay? I didn’t even wanna do this, I knew it was a bad idea, I just wanted to get some sleep, please… I just wanted to get some sleep.” The gurney stopped in a room Kurt hadn’t seen before, and as the nurses surrounded him left his line of sight, he began to cry. Once the room had gone quiet, Kurt realized that he had been left completely alone, strapped to a gurney, while he had to listen to the cacophony down the hallway.

Kurt let his head fall to one side and saw an examination table of some sort, also equipped with restraints. The gravity of what had just occurred was finally starting to sink in, and all Kurt could do in that moment was weep quietly as he awaited his fate. 


	14. Everyday - END OF DISC 1

Somebody was standing over Kurt. He could tell, even with his eyes closed and he was only just waking up, and he could pick up on the sound of multiple people talking. Kurt opened his eyes and looked up to see the silhouettes of three people standing over him.

“Oh, he’s comin’ to,” said the largest one, in a very familiar voice, one that Kurt had heard in his dreams and on cassette tape. He leaned in close to get a good look at Kurt, and goddammit, it was the Big Bopper. “Hey there, fella, you feelin’ alright?”

“What the fuck?” Kurt mumbled.

“Bopper, leave him be,” said a figure on the other side of the gurney, shoving the Bopper off to the side, now looking down at Kurt with his curly hair and Coke-bottle glasses in full view. “I _ told _ you to leave him be, and now you’ve gone and gotten him into this mess,” Buddy scolded.

“I didn’t do this,” the Big Bopper protested. “I don’t see why you’re goin’ and blaming me for any of this!”

“I know you had _ something _ to do with it,” said Buddy. “I know about what you did with Anubis, goin’ around, meddling in other people’s affairs like it’s any of your business!”

“Oh, are we gonna pretend that you’re not the one meddling, then?” asked the Big Bopper. “He saw you first, so who’s been meddling, huh? Me or you?”

Kurt closed his eyes and groaned. “Can the both of you just shut the fuck up for like five minutes? My head is killing me.”

Both Buddy and the Bopper looked at each other, and stood over Kurt in an awkward, tense silence. A third figure approached and looked over Kurt, and Kurt opened one eye. It was Ritchie Valens, rounding out the trio, and somebody Kurt hadn’t seen since his first encounter with Buddy Holly.

“Sorry about all this,” said Ritchie. “We’d help you outta your straps here, but… well, we’re not supposed to interfere in the physical world very much.”

“You can do that?” Kurt asked.

“We could,” said the Big Bopper.

“But we’re not gonna,” Buddy insisted.

“Aw, listen to Mr. Party Pooper over here,” said the Big Bopper, nudging Buddy. “He didn’t used to be so uptight, y’know.”

“That’s ‘cause I learned better,” said Buddy. “But you apparently didn’t.”

“Guys, hush,” said Ritchie. “I don’t think he wants to hear all that right now.” 

“Thanks, Ritchie,” Kurt muttered, the words slurring out of his mouth.

“Don’t you worry about it,” said Ritchie.

Kurt closed his eyes again, and sighed. “So can you guys contact other ghosts? ‘Cause I’ve always wanted to talk to John Lennon.”

“We can’t do that right now,” said Ritchie. “If I’m bein’ honest here, I don’t really know how much of this works myself. I think maybe one time I got the chance to meet him in one of my go-arounds, but I don’t remember too much. I remember that Ringo fella more.”

“Seriously?” Kurt asked.

“He’s a funny guy,” was all the explanation that Ritchie could offer.

“I remember meeting John Lennon in one of my timelines,” said Buddy. “Couple different times, and you know, he was smart enough to not try jumpin’ through other timelines after he’d die.”

“I just thought he was a weird hippie with a weird-lookin’ wife,” said the Big Bopper.

“He is a bit of an odd duck, ain’t he?” remarked Buddy.

“That’s putting it pretty gently,” said the Big Bopper with a chuckle.

“I wish I could’ve talked to him about being famous,” said Kurt. “Asked him how he handled it. They say you’re not supposed to meet your heroes… that you’ll come away disappointed. I’ve met so many people that I’ve been a fan of for years and most of them, I feel like I connected with them deeper, at least, more often than I have when I’ve been let down. I don’t think Steve Albini was too crazy about producing our last album, though.”

“Did he not do a good job?” asked Buddy.

“No, he did a great job, he got just the kind of sound we were looking for,” said Kurt.

“Well, then,” said Buddy, “if he can’t take pride in a job well done, then that’s on him.”“I guess,” said Kurt. “His band, though, Big Black, they were fucking amazing. You guys would probably fucking hate it, though.”

“Maybe not,” said the Big Bopper. “They put out anything that sounds like ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit?’”

“Not… really?” said Kurt.

“Because, lemme tell you somethin’,” said the Big Bopper, “I’ve lived plenty of different lifetimes, and heard all kinds of kooky music that the younger generations would put out, but sometimes you hear a song and it just hits ya, and boy, you made a song that did that to guys who were rockin’ and rollin’ before you were even born. That song’s gonna go down in rock ‘n roll history, and I know that you feel resentment towards it, like it made you too famous too fast and you’re scared of bein’ a flash in the pan, but I’m telling you… you made something special, Kurt. You made a classic, and that’s what I was trying to show you when we played that song together.”

Kurt stared at the Big Bopper, trying to take all this in. He looked to Buddy and Ritchie.

“It is a really good song,” said Buddy. “It’s heavier than I’m used to, for sure, but structurally, well, by golly, it’s a gem.”

“I would’ve liked to have heard it in any of the timelines I’ve been through,” said Ritchie, his demeanor turned melancholy.

“That sucks, Ritchie,” said Kurt, “but also it’s very nice of a bunch of dead guys to fluff up my ego while I’m strapped to a fucking stretcher, so thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” said the Big Bopper.

“Anybody ever tell you that you cuss like a sailor?” Buddy asked which got a chuckle from the Bopper.

“Buddy, he ain’t said nothin’ I ever heard from the guys I was with in the military.”

Ritchie snapped his head to the direction of the door. “I think someone’s coming.”

“Aw, hell,” said Buddy. “We’d better split. Bopper, don’t think you’ve been let off the hook yet.”

“Stuff it already, four-eyes,” said Bopper, slightly annoyed. He looked back at Kurt. “Good luck, Kurt.”

The door to the room opened, and Kurt cracked one eye open, truly awake now. He was still in the same room, strapped to the same gurney, under the same lights. He lifted his head to get a good look at who had come in, and realized that he didn’t recognize this man at all.

The man standing over him was probably only a little bit taller than Kurt, definitely shorter than Dave, but something about his presence (probably the fact that Kurt was strapped in place and lying down) made him appear larger, somehow. His hair was bright white and receding into a widow’s peak, and he wore a pair of sleek glasses, possibly designer. Based on his white coat over a button-up dress shirt and slacks, it was a pretty safe bet that this guy was a doctor. He looked over Kurt, and tilted his head slightly. “So you must be the young man I’ve been hearing so much about tonight,” he said, as he pulled on a pair of gloves.

“Are you Dr. Wallace?” asked Kurt.

“Oh, so you’ve heard about me?” said Dr. Wallace. “I suppose that makes us even then, doesn’t it, hmmm?” Dr. Wallace gently held Kurt’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted Kurt’s head back and forth. “So, can you tell me your name and date of birth?”

“Kurt Cobain, February 20th, 1967.”

“Are you in any pain?”

“My back hurts but that’s normal,” said Kurt. “Also I’m still sore from being tackled earlier. And my wrists hurt. But other than that, no.”

“Good, good,” said Dr. Wallace. He pulled out a penlight and shone it into Kurt’s pupils, watching them contract. “You’re one of Dr. Singh’s patients, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Wallace removed his fingers from Kurt’s jaw, but for a moment, he could have sworn that he ran the tip of his gloved thumb down to the tip of Kurt’s dimpled chin. “So what I want to know,” said Dr. Wallace, “is why one of Singh’s boys is down on my floor?”

“Billy didn’t tell you?”

“Billy?” Dr. Wallace asked. “Billy Benson? That Billy?”

“I don’t remember his last name,” said Kurt. “He came down here for his twin brother, Bobby.”

“Ah,” said Dr. Wallace, “so it _ is _ Billy Benson. Well,” he pulled over a swivel stool and sat on it, looking Kurt over, “unfortunately, we don’t know where Billy and Bobby are right now. Do you know where they are, Kurt?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where they might have headed off to?” Dr Wallace scooted closer, and leaned over Kurt.

“I don’t know that either,” said Kurt. “Billy just said they wanted to get out.”

“They didn’t give you any destination at all?”

Kurt shook his head. “No.”

“So you just helped release two young men, one of whom is an autistic man with mental retardation and the other a man with Asperger’s syndrome, both with violent tendencies, out onto the public without any consideration for the consequences of such an action. Is that right, Kurt?” Dr. Wallace’s cold, blue eyes bore into Kurt, and Kurt found himself trying to sink into the cushion on the gurney.

“I… I guess?” said Kurt, in a very small voice.

Dr. Wallace shook his head. “You realize that if something happens to them or, God forbid, they do something to someone, that you are at least partially responsible for what might happen… don’t you, Kurt?”

Kurt clenched his jaw and his fists. “It was Billy’s choice.”

“But you didn’t do anything to stop him, did you, Kurt?” asked Dr. Wallace. “You could have told him not to do it, but here we are, and you, young man, have caused the whole hospital a lot of trouble. You should hope that they’re found and safely returned.” Kurt could almost feel a physical pressure being put upon him by Dr. Wallace’s disapproving gaze.

“Where’s Dr. Singh?” Kurt asked softly.

“Probably at home, sleeping,” said Dr. Wallace. “It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning, Kurt. _ I _ was at home before I got called in because of what you and Billy did. I had _ plans, _ you know.”

“Sorry,” said Kurt sarcastically.

Dr. Wallace didn’t respond. Instead, he just stared at Kurt, but most unnervingly, he broke eye contact with Kurt… but was still staring at him, his eyes moving very slowly over Kurt’s supine form.

“You’re married,” Dr. Wallace finally said.

“What? Oh,” he realized Dr. Wallace had noticed his wedding band. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

“What’s her name?”

“Courtney.”

“Do you love your wife, Kurt?”

Kurt didn’t know how to respond to a question like that coming from a doctor, and just stared at Dr. Wallace, flabbergasted. “Yeah,” he said, after a second. “Of course… why are you asking me that?”

“It’s simply small talk, Kurt, no need to get so defensive,” said Dr. Wallace.

“It’s none of your business,” said Kurt.

“Mmm, that is true,” said Dr. Wallace, putting a finger to his chin, “but still, it is curious that it took you a while to answer, isn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Dr. Wallace. “It doesn’t mean anything at all.”

It was hard for Kurt to escape from the conclusion that Dr. Wallace was actively fucking with him. Kurt tugged on his restraints, the straps digging into the flesh of his wrist. “Can you let me out of these?” Kurt asked, making his annoyance clear. “I’d like to go back upstairs to my room.”

“I’m sure you would,” said Dr. Wallace. “But I don’t think I can simply let you go after all the trouble you caused, now can I? No, that simply would not be right. It wouldn’t be very fair to everyone you’ve inconvenienced and those who have been injured. We had two of our orderlies physically assaulted, Kurt. They were injured just for doing their jobs. No, Kurt, you can’t go back up to your room on the upper floor. I think you need to stay down here awhile… I think you are in need of some… _ discipline. _” That last word was said with an anticipatory shudder.

Kurt went completely motionless, as if he were trying to not attract the attention from some large predator. Dr. Wallace smiled at Kurt, his lips pulled tight, and he could feel himself being looked over again, before Dr. Wallace stood up. He went to his desk and turned on a radio sitting on his desk, which started playing an ad read for a furniture store before Dr. Wallace turned the dial until he reached a WHAM! song, and tapped his foot to it. He hummed along as he adjusted the stretcher to prop Kurt up so that he was sitting at a 45 degree angle. Dr. Wallace sauntered over to a cabinet, and pulled out a pill bottle and a paper cup. He emptied a few pills into his hand, went to a sink at the far side of the room and filled it with water, and then approached Kurt with the pills in one hand and the cup in the other. “Take these, please,”

“What are they?” asked Kurt.

“Diazepam,” said Dr. Wallace. “Open up, please. The easier you make this for yourself, the easier it will be for both of us.”

Kurt opened his mouth, and Dr. Wallace popped both pills in Kurt’s mouth, and then placed the paper cup to Kurt’s lips. Kurt swallowed both pilled, and the rest of the water. Dr. Wallace gave him that same, tight-lipped smile, pleased with Kurt’s obedience. “Good,” he said. “A wise choice.”

“So, are you just gonna put me in solitary, then?” Kurt asked.

“Mmmm, I will,” said Dr. Wallace. “But I would like to have a little… one-on-one time with you, Kurt.”

“You gonna lecture me?” asked Kurt.

“Among other things,” said Dr. Wallace. He lowered the stretcher a several inches, and tilted Kurt flat onto his back again. “I realize we haven’t met, Kurt, but I’ve heard things about you. I know that Dr. Singh seems very fond of you, but many of the orderlies aren’t. I also know that despite being married, your wife has never visited you, and that she was only there when you first checked in… but you have one particular friend who has come by more often than any other visitors you’ve had. A young man around your age, if I’m correct?”

Kurt looked at Dr. Wallace with narrowed eyes. “My wife’s been busy promoting her band’s new album,” said Kurt. “Of course she hasn’t been able to see me. And that guy you’re talking about is my best friend, so yeah, my best friend is gonna show up and visit me. So what?”

“Word gets around, Kurt,” said Dr. Wallace. “Even though you have people trying to protect you, word still gets out, and it spreads.”

“What kind of word?” Kurt asked. “You wanna come out and say it, or are you just gonna continue to be all vague about it?”

“I might not have to,” said Dr. Wallace.

Kurt let out a dismissive “pssh.” “Whatever,” he said.

“How are you feeling, Kurt?” asked Dr. Wallace. “Perhaps a little more… relaxed?”

Kurt didn’t say anything, but he was experiencing a wave of calm that came over him in a wave, not dissimilar to when he’d pop Valium, but this felt stronger. He could feel his defensive walls crumbling around him, as his body went limp. His mind, though it was clouded, was still fully aware of his surroundings, though his previous thoughts of wanting to deck this fucker were replaced with an almost spiritual serenity. There was still the gnawing thought in the back of his head that this guy was definitely ‘off,’ but Kurt reasoned that there was little that could be done about it, and just going along with whatever the doctor ordered would be safe. “Yeah,” he finally said.

“Good,” said Dr. Wallace. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check you for any injuries you may have sustained. You were apparently knocked onto your chest twice tonight, is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Kurt, barely even moving as Dr. Wallace lifted up the hospital-issued adaptive shirt that Kurt was wearing. Dr. Wallace pulled the hem of the shirt all the way up to Kurt’s collar bone. Dr. Wallace noticed a bruise on Kurt’s sternum, and prodded it gently with his thumb. “Ow,” said Kurt.

“How much does that hurt, on a scale of 1-10?” asked Dr. Wallace.

“I dunno… about a 3?” said Kurt. He could feel Dr. Wallace’s fingers trace the outlines of his rib cage, occasionally poking on sore spots. Kurt flinched slightly, but didn’t make a sound.

“I see… I see,” said Dr. Wallace. He stood up and went back to his desk, returning while holding a small, yet professional grade camera in his hands, emblazoned with the “Nikon” logo in etched, silver lettering. Without even asking, Dr. Wallace held the camera to his eye, quickly adjusted the focus, snapped a photo of Kurt. There wasn’t any flash, just the click of the shudder to indicate what had just happened.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked.

“Documenting your injuries,” said Dr. Wallace.

“Don’t you normally just write them down?” Kurt asked.

“A picture’s worth a thousand words, Kurt,” said Dr. Wallace, snapping another photograph at a slightly different angle, and then another. “You know how long I’ve worked in mental healthcare, Kurt?”

“No?” Kurt answered.

“Almost 30 years now,” said Dr. Wallace. “A lot has changed since the 60’s, my boy. I was a young man back then. I had hopes, dreams, ambitions… _ desires... _” He gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, perhaps lamenting his lost youth, or recalling some fond memory. “Oh, but the harsh reality of our work set in quickly. Do you know what Thorazine is, Kurt?”

Kurt slowly shook his head. It felt heavy, like he had to put in a great amount of effort to move it.

“They called it the ‘chemical straitjacket,’” said Dr. Wallace, who was now moving to Kurt’s side. “Can you move your hand for me?”

Kurt looked down at his hand, which had fallen out of its fist and rested limply at his side. He tried to flick his wrist, but it barely twitched. All he could really manage was to wiggle the tips of his fingers. “I can’t...” he said.

“Mmmm, that’s what I thought,” said Dr. Wallace as he released Kurt’s wrist from the restraint. Now free, Kurt again tried to move his hand, but again, he could only twitch slightly. Dr. Wallace leaned over Kurt, his chest blocking Kurt’s view, and he noticed how heavily the doctor’s chest heaved doing such a simple task. Soon, both of Kurt’s arms were free, and yet he still lay there, unable to escape.

“Thorazine is a nasty little drug,” said Dr. Wallace. “But it’s less visually alarming to the outsider than using a camisole… the _ actual _ straitjacket, of course. Oh, it does a number on a man… there’s an informal term for someone heavily medicated with it, the ‘Thorazine zombie.’”

Dr. Wallace went back to the same area out of Kurt’s line of sight where he had gotten the camera, and continued. “It makes sense that it’s used, of course, since mental facilities are often overworked and understaffed, and while any patient can act out in strange ways, by definition, the mental patient tends to be far less predictable than your average hospital patient. Patients can be violent, as you’ve no doubt witnessed for yourself tonight, but I do so dislike Thorazine, Kurt. But the alternative, the straitjacket, is frowned upon by most medical professionals, so much so that they’re extremely rare to come across in a setting like this; why, they’re more popular with magicians and daredevils than they are hospitals. You see, patients can injure themselves with it, and it’s so often used as a visual shorthand for mental illness in movies and television, which is certainly regrettable, but to be honest...” Dr. Wallace stepped back into view, holding a folded piece of heavy fabric in his hands, and unfurled it as though he were shaking the wrinkles out of a sheet. In his hands was a long-sleeved, canvas jacket, covered in straps, and with sleeves that were conspicuously absent of holes at the ends.

“I always preferred their aesthetic,” said Dr. Wallace, now smiling wide enough to show his large, pearly-white teeth.

There was a dulled sense of panic going through Kurt’s mind, similar to being in a dentist’s chair and seeing them bring out a drill that looked too big. His heart started to beat faster. That jacket was going on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Indeed, Dr. Wallace lifted him up to a sitting position, and Kurt just flopped forward, hunched over with his arms stretched out. Dr. Wallace hummed along with the radio as he made short work of fitting the jacket onto Kurt; it was much too large for his skinny frame, but the doctor tightened the straps to make it as snug as possible, and used a front strap to pin Kurt’s arms down against his chest. He stepped back and picked up the camera again, taking more photos from multiple angles of Kurt hunched over, and then put a hand on Kurt’s chest as he guided him back against the stretcher so that he was lying back down, and took more photos.

It was at this point, as Dr. Wallace undid the straps on his ankles, that Kurt experienced something he hadn’t experienced since he was in his greenhouse with a shotgun aimed at his head; he heard a voice. It was different from the one he’d heard before in that drugged up stupor, that tiny, pixie voice that begged him to stop. No, this one was one with which he’d just been speaking.

_ We gotta do something! _ it said, seemingly not even speaking to Kurt.

“Ritchie?” Kurt mumbled.

Dr. Wallace looked up at Kurt. “Hmmm? Did you say something?”

_ He can hear us, _ said Ritchie. _ Kurt, you need to get away from that man! _

“How?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, wow,” said Dr. Wallace. “You really are quite out of it, aren’t you? You’re not even making any sense.” He pulled out the camera again, and took more photos of Kurt lying in place. The doctor took hold of Kurt’s ankles, one after the other, and spread his legs apart before he stooped down and took another photo from a lower angle. “Beautiful… very, very nice...”

_ Oh, geez, _ muttered Ritchie in mounting horror. _ Guys, what do we do? _

_ I don’t think there’s anything we can do, _ said Buddy. _ And even if we could, the most of it would be to open a door, or maybe knock a frame off a wall… _

_ You mean we just gotta sit here and watch all this? _asked Ritchie.

_ We don’t have much of a choice, _ said Buddy.

Kurt’s breathing quickened. He managed to get his head to roll to one side to try and look for somebody, anybody that might help, but saw nothing. “N-no...” he groaned.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Dr. Wallace, “you’re not going to remember any of this in the morning, so be a good boy and keep quiet, and maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow in your own bed upstairs, hmmm?” Dr. Wallace hooked his fingers underneath the hem of the hospital pants Kurt was wearing, and slowly, clearly savoring this, pulled them down past his crotch. “Don’t worry,” he said, “just checking for any… further injuries you may have sustained, is all.” He leaned over towards the table, and turned up the volume on the radio, drowning out any outside noise of restless patients, and any noise that might come from the room.

“One Night in Bangkok” came onto the radio and Kurt wished he could have smashed the thing to pieces right there. Instead, he just lay there while Dr. Wallace snapped photos of Kurt with his pants pulled down his thighs and his underwear guarding the very last shred of dignity he had left. He felt sick. As Dr. Wallace stripped Kurt of his pants to take even more photographs, he thought back to Ned, giving him a pair of cigarettes saying that they weren’t the only cocksuckers in this wing. Was this what he meant? Had he told this guy? Did Ned know that Dr. Wallace was like this? Would he even remember this later to bring it up to Ned?

“You are a handsome little devil, aren’t you?” cooed Dr. Wallace, looking at Kurt with a grin as he inched Kurt’s underwear down past his pubic area. Kurt tried to spit at him, but it only flew a few inches away from his mouth before it dribbled on his chin. “Cute, cute… very cute,” he said. “Don’t you worry, young man. You’re more than making up for my canceled plans for the evening.”

“Gonna… gonna tell Dr. Singh...” Kurt muttered.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Dr. Wallace, “if you happen to remember this little incident, in exchange for keeping your sweet little mouth shut, we can forgo any of the more severe disciplinary measures you’d normally have to go through for pulling a little stunt like that. Otherwise… well, who knows what might happen to you?” He freed Kurt’s penis from his briefs, and took a moment to look it over before taking a photo. “Not very excited, are we? I suppose I’ll have to help with that.” He set the camera aside, and cupped Kurt’s balls in one hand, and gripped his limp shaft in the other.

Kurt screwed his eyes shut, and pursed his lips. We wanted to think of something, anything else; kittens, sunshine, rainbows, fuck, anything but what was happening to him right now as those gloved hands stroked and poked and prodded. He’d had fantasies of being taken advantage of being used and even violated sexually by a man or a woman, writing at least one song about one of his masochistic fantasies, giving an interview where he said that he’d wanted to seek out a chicken hawk and sell his ass on the streets… but this wasn’t that. This was so completely out of his control, and as he felt one of the doctor’s fingers push into his ass and he let out a groan, he felt even more helpless. He didn’t want it to happen like this. It wasn’t _ supposed _ to be like this, not here, not now, and certainly not with this guy, and his stupid body wasn’t doing anything to fend this fucker off. Quite the opposite, actually, as his heavy breathing, panting, moaning and squirming only seemed to give the doctor more confidence.

“What a cute little slut you are,” he whispered, leaning over Kurt, playing with him like he was a musical instrument and just the slightest twitch of his fingers made a new sound come out of Kurt. “Why, if you make me come, I might just forgive this whole little debacle. How does that sound, hmmm?”

“Fuck you,” Kurt slurred, fleck of spittle flying out of his mouth and onto his chin.

“That can be arranged,” said Dr. Wallace, pulling out his finger. Kurt flopped his head to the other side and watched as Dr. Wallace picked up his camera again, just snapping away like a Japanese tourist over Kurt’s half-naked, quivering body. “And my, don’t you seem excited for someone under such sedation?”

“Go to hell,” said Kurt. “You… you _ rapist. _”

Dr. Wallace’s grin withered from his face, and was replaced by a scowl as grim as an undertaker’s. He set the camera aside, and leaned over Kurt as he shoved Kurt’s balled-up underwear in his mouth. He then pushed Kurt’s ankles up to be level with the wrist straps, pulling them uncomfortably tight as he fastened them in place. Silently, he picked up the camera again, and took more photos, though the sheer glee he’d displayed earlier was replaced with a cold fury. “I was going to try and make this enjoyable for you,” he said, his affect flat, “but you had to call me such a vile name. And here I thought I was only giving you what you had wanted all along. I’m not unaware of who you are, you know. Some of the orderlies mentioned you’re in a band, much like your wife, and that one of your songs had a title that intrigued me… what was it called again? ‘Rape Me,’ I believe it was?”

Kurt lacked the energy to be able to do anything aside from silently fume and taste the underwear he’d been wearing all day.

“I mean, with a song title like that, it’s practically an invitation, isn’t it?” said Dr. Wallace, as he climbed up on the stretcher, unzipping his fly. “So just consider me fulfilling a request of yours.” He pulled out his erect cock, spat in his gloved hand, and jerked it in preparation. Kurt finally tried to scream, but the gag crammed into his mouth prevented him from letting out anything louder than a muffled whine. Dr. Wallace lined up the tip of his dick with Kurt’s asshole. “I’d relax if I were you,” he whispered, slowly starting to press his spit-slick erection inside, “otherwise, this is going to hurt.”

And then, for about a second, the entire room went dark, and the radio turned off.

Very quickly, the lights turned back on, and Dr. Wallace backed off of Kurt as various machines beeped back online. “Shit,” he said. He quickly stuffed his dick back into his pants, and grabbed a sheet to throw over Kurt’s naked body. Voices from outside could be heard shouting, though they were indistinguishable. Dr. Wallace hid his camera and removed his gloves, throwing them into a medical waste bin right before a nurse opened the door and poked her head in.

“We just had a power outage,” she said to Dr. Wallace.

“Yes, I could tell,” he responded. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she responded. She looked past Dr. Wallace and noticed Kurt’s figure under the sheet, lying down with his knees propped up. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that will be all,” said Dr. Wallace. “If I do need anything, I’ll put a call out on the intercom.”

The nurse nodded, casting one last wary glance at Kurt before she left. Dr. Wallace sighed and shook his head as he turned back to Kurt. “Paging Nurse Cockblock, am I right?” he said, and laughed as the fluorescent lights above their heads started to pop and flicker. “Oh, perfect timing,” he grumbled. Kurt watched as the doctor walked back out of sight. The radio had turned back on, but it had been nothing but static until Dr. Wallace reached the desk, and the radio started playing the sound of rhythmic clapping and a toy piano. Dr. Wallace paused as the opening lines Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” started playing.

“The hell did it get on the oldies station?” he muttered aloud, and turned the dial. As the signal switched between stations, the static simply interrupted the sugary-sweet song playing as the lights continued to flicker. Kurt started to laugh through the gag, and Dr. Wallace whipped around to glare at him.

“Do you have something to do with this?” asked Dr. Wallace, his voice a mix of both anger and panic. “What the hell is going on?”

Kurt just shook his head, still laughing. Dr. Wallace gripped Kurt’s face in his hand, squeezing his cheeks. “You think this is funny, huh? What’s so funny?” He yanked the underwear out of Kurt’s mouth. “Huh?”

Kurt just wheezed and giggled, finally having given fully into delirium. “Uh oh,” was all he could manage to get out.

“‘Uh oh?’ The hell do you mean by that? ‘Uh oh?’”

“Buddy lied...” said Kurt, still laughing.

Dr. Wallace stood up straight, listening to the lyrics of the song. He went back to the desk and pushed the button on the intercom. “We’re currently experiencing an electrical malfunction with the lights in Room--” He stopped. The light on the intercom to indicate whether it was on wasn’t lighting up. He jabbed the button a few more times. “Shit!” he hissed again, and as he walked towards the door, the two minute song wrapped up, and the radio returned to static, but there were odd sounds underneath the static. Little fragments of garbled speech, the sound of crunching metal, and an eerie, inhuman howl that strained against the radio speaker as though it were trying to shatter it from the inside.

Kurt went quiet, and just looked to Dr. Wallace, completely agog, before giggling again. Dr. Wallace stood just feet away from the door, a growing sense of distress creeping over him as the sounds grew louder, and louder; so loud that the radio rattled in place from the vibrations.

Dr. Wallace raced to the desk and yanked the radio off the desk and threw it to the ground. Kurt could hear the sound of batteries tumbling out of it, which just made him laugh harder. Dr. Wallace ran to the end of the stretcher and gripped the frame in his hands, shaking it as Kurt laughed. “SHUT UP!” he shouted. “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

“This is a dream!” said Kurt. “Thank god, it’s all just been a dream the whole time...”

The lights flickered off again for a second, and then sprang back to life in a consistent, patterned strobe. Dr. Wallace looked up above Kurt, and his mouth fell open as all the color in his face drained, turning it to a sickly pallor. Kurt looked up to try and see what Dr. Wallace saw, but didn’t see anything there at all. Something from above dripped onto his head, right above his eye, and it was warm, and thick. Kurt tried to shake his head to get it out of his eye, and caught sight of Dr. Wallace clutching his chest and hyperventilating, his mouth open in a wide “O,” until he staggered back into a cart, sending a cascade of metal implements clattering to the floor. “No,” cried Dr. Wallace, trembling as he slid down to the floor, “no, no, no, NOOOO!”

The door to the room swung in, this time with two orderlies and two nurses rushing in. The lights immediately stopped flickering. They saw Dr. Wallace lying against the wall closest to the door, eyes and mouth wide open, hand still clutching his chest, quivering and gasping for breath, and on the other end of the room they saw Kurt, the guy who had helped two patients escape, lying on a stretcher and covered in a sheet, his knees up in the air and his laughter turning quickly into crying. Two of the orderlies and a nurse flocked to the doctor to assess his condition, while the other nurse, the one that had spoken to Dr. Wallace just minutes earlier, went over to Kurt.

“What happened?” she asked frantically, gripping Kurt by the shoulders. “What on earth happened here?”

Kurt just looked up to her, his body quaking with sobs. “I just wanna go back to bed,” he said. “Just call Dr. Singh and let me go back to bed.”

~

  
  


When Kurt woke up, he was back in his bed in his regular room. A nurse hadn’t come in to rouse him from his sleep as usual, which was certainly odd, but he was aware there was some kind of commotion going on outside. Kurt grunted, and sat up as he tried to recall the previous night's events, and how much of it was real and what wasn’t.

As he sat up, he saw two uniformed police officers standing outside his open door, talking to… Courtney? Yes, it was Courtney, looking at them with wide, frightened eyes, and she happened to turn her head and look into Kurt’s room and see him staring back at her.

“Kurt!” she cried out, and rushed inside, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tight. “Oh god, Kurt,” she said, petting his hair. “Oh god, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Good morning,” said Kurt, still sleepy, as he hugged her back. “What did I miss?”

One of the police officers stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Mr. Cobain?”

Kurt looked up at him. To put it lightly, he was never a fan of the police, and having this dude come in first thing in the morning, right after being able to see Courtney again, certainly wasn’t doing him any favors.

“Yeah?” said Kurt.

“I’m Lieutenant Hughes from the Seattle Police Department,” he said, and gestured to the other officer. “This is my partner, Officer Patterson. We wanted to ask you some questions about what happened last night.”

Courtney pulled back from the hug, and gave Kurt a look that made his heart sink. “It’s okay, you’re not in trouble,” she tried to reassure him. “They know about what happened.”

Kurt rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Honey, I don’t even know how much of what happened last night was even real… I can’t remember very much...”

“We talked with the hospital staff and your doctor,” said Lieutenant Hughes. “We’ve got multiple eye witnesses regarding what happened last night. We’re also aware that you were given a sedative that probably caused something called ‘anterograde amnesia,’ so you may not remember a lot of what happened between you and Dr. Wallace.”

“What happened to Dr. Wallace?” Kurt asked.

The two police exchanged glances, and Patterson spoke up. “He’s in catatonic shock,” said Patterson. “He’s not talking. He’s being monitored in the ICU. You’re the only other person that was in the room when what happened… happened.”

Slowly, memories started to come back to Kurt, though they were incomplete, and hazy. He drew closer to Courtney, and she pressed his head against her breast as she cradled his head.

“Luckily, the Benson twins were located this morning,” said Hughes. “They went straight to their grandparent’s house. They’re safe, but we would like at least a written statement from you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Look,” said Courtney, “my husband is clearly traumatized from what happened to him, alright? So would it kill you to give him some time to process what that fucking asshole did to him and maybe back off?”

“We’re just trying to run an investigation, ma’am--”

“And I’m trying to console somebody who should be fucking suing this place into oblivion,” said Courtney.

“Alright,” said Hughes with a sigh. He reached into his breast pocket. pulled out a business card and handed it to Courtney. “Here. Just contact me whenever he’s ready to talk. We just want to wrap up our investigation.”

“Fine,” said Courtney, snatching the card from Lieutenant Hughes. “Thank you. You can go now.”

The two cops looked at each other again, and left without a word. Courtney immediately went back to stroking Kurt’s hair, rocking him softly against her. “It’s okay, baby,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything--” Her voice hitched, and she let out a sharp sob. Kurt held onto tighter, and they stayed like that, for how long, Kurt wasn’t sure. It felt like forever. It barely felt long enough.


	15. Click Clique Click

“What the fuck kind of hospital are you running, here?”

“I assure you, Mrs. Cobain, what happened last night was entirely unprecedented--”

“Was it?” asked Courtney. “Because now you assholes are going to have a criminal investigation on your hands, and your entire hospital is going to feel my fucking wrath over what you did to Kurt.”

Kurt was sitting in Dr. Singh’s office, in the chair beside where Courtney was seated. He was wrapped in a blanket, his knees pulled up to his chest, not saying anything. Mostly, he was just observing Dr. Singh, who was somehow able to maintain his usual cordial and level-headed demeanor.

“If I had any idea that Dr. Wallace was doing any of the things he was doing, I would have reported him to the police myself,” said Dr. Singh. “I assure you, I am as furious over what happened as you are, and more importantly, I feel I have failed in my duty to protect your husband. All I can offer you is my most sincere apologies, and any help I could provide you and the police in bringing you justice for this unforgivable crime.” He bowed his head solemnly.

Courtney crossed her arms and scowled at Dr. Singh. “That’s really fucking nice of you to say and all. Doctor, but this wasn’t some kind of accident. One of your fucking doctors _ raped my husband. _”

Dr. Singh flinched at that last phrase, and cleared his throat. “I believe you misunderstand--”

“What? What do I misunderstand? Is getting raped just something that happens here a lot, like WHOOPS, I accidentally stuck my dick in a patient, silly me!” Courtney said sardonically, throwing up her hands in the hair as though she were doing a cruel imitation of some hapless halfwit from an infomercial.

“You misunderstand, Mrs. Cobain, because Dr. Wallace has seniority over me. Technically, he’s my superior,” explained Dr. Singh. “He’s been working in this hospital since the 70’s. I only started my residency here in ‘89. I don’t mean to pass the buck here, you’ll want to talk to our director of our mental health program, Dr. Sloan. I’ve already contacted her myself regarding the situation, I can arrange a meeting between the two of you for later today, if you like.”

“Yes, please,” said Courtney, waving her hand towards Dr. Singh. “Please fucking do, because I am ready to piss lightning and shit thunder on your entire fucking program, and burn this place to the _ fucking ground. _”

“Courtney,” Kurt finally spoke up. “Can you just… stop? Please?”

Courtney looked to Kurt, her expression wounded. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her entire demeanor going soft.

“I don’t want this to get out,” said Kurt, wrapping the blanket around him tighter. “Trust me, I am… very, _ very _ angry about what happened, but the guy who did this to me got what was coming to him, and he’s not gonna hurt anybody else anymore, and that’s all I wanted.” He started trembling. “And I would rather fucking die than have this shit get out to the fucking press and be reminded of this every fucking day for the rest of my life, okay? I just… I don’t want people to know. About this. About _ any _ of this.”

“Oh, honey,” Courtney got up out of her chair and crouched by Kurt’s side, petting his head and putting her other hand on his elbow, “honey, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, okay? I’ll talk to my lawyer and your publicist and we’ll take care of it, okay?”

Kurt gave her a hasty nod. “I just… I have one concern,” said Kurt, looking up to Dr, Singh.

“And what’s that?” asked Dr. Singh.

“Did the police find the camera?” asked Kurt.

“Camera?” asked Dr. Singh. He looked genuinely puzzled by this information. “I’ve heard nothing about a camera, no.”

“I… I’m sure he had a camera,” said Kurt. “I remember it. It’s hard to remember a lot of what happened but… I remember that camera.”

“If that’s the case,” said Dr. Singh, “you should contact the police immediately.”

Courtney stood up and pulled the card out from her dress pocket. “Can I use your phone?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Dr. Singh, scooting his chair back away from his desk. Courtney leaned over Dr. Singh’s desk and turned his phone around, and the doctor gave her the extension number to make outside calls. As she called the police, Kurt just looked at Dr. Singh, still draped in a blanket, with a doleful expression. Dr. Singh sighed, and turned his head, mostly averting his gaze from Kurt aside from the occasional, shameful side-eye.

“Yeah, I was told to call this number if I had any information regarding my husband’s assault last night at Swedish Cherry Hill Campus Hospital? … Uh-huh… okay,” said Courtney, leaning against Dr. Singh’s desk. “Well, my husband just mentioned something about remembering a camera. Did anybody find a camera?” She paused, listening. “Yeah, okay. Is he still here? …. Mmm-hmmm… hold on, lemme ask him.” Courtney pulled the phone from her ear and looked at Kurt. “They’re going to at least need a written statement from you.”

“Okay,” said Kurt with a nod.

“He’ll give you a written statement,” said Courtney. “… Oh? Oh… Okay. Yeah, I’m calling from Dr. Singh’s office.”

“Dr. Bartholomew Singh,” said Dr. Singh.

“Bart Singh,” said Courtney. “… Mmm-hmmm. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks. Bye.” Courtney hung up, and looked to Kurt. “Okay,” she said, “you can give them a statement and then we can pack your shit and leave.”

Kurt looked away from Courtney bashfully, and fidgeted in his chair. “This… this is gonna sound really weird, but I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet.”

Courtney stared at Kurt, her mouth agape, and let out a choked gasp of disbelief. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“How many reporters are outside?” Kurt asked. “Because if there’s police around here and the press knows I’m here and I just happen to leave at the same time, they’re gonna think I’m involved. And I don’t want anybody to know, okay?” Kurt withdrew further under the blanket. “I can’t take it. I’d rather just stay.”

“Kurt, we can sneak you out,” said Courtney. “I can take care of you, please, just--”

“How many reporters are outside?” Kurt asked again. “Do they know?”

Courtney sighed. “I don’t know, honey,” she said. “I think I saw some paparazzi outside, but--”

“Then I’m staying,” said Kurt.

“Seriously?” asked Courtney.

Kurt just nodded.

Courtney crouched down in front of Kurt, sweeping aside his hair, and looking deep into his eyes. “Don’t you want to come home and be safe?” she asked.

“I do,” said Kurt. “More than anything.”

“Then why stay?”

“Because I was getting better,” said Kurt. He reached a hand out from under the blanket, and took Courtney’s hand. “I really have, up until this happened. And… since you’re back home… I’d like you to visit more often. I’ve made friends here. A lot of them are good people and I’d like to introduce you to them. Just… give me another week, or however long it takes for me to be able to leave in peace, okay?”

“Kurt--”

“I think you’d probably get along with Maxine,” said Kurt. “She has a lot of trouble getting along with the others but I feel like you’d probably get her, you know?”

Courtney looked back to Dr. Singh as though pleading with him. Dr. Singh shrugged. “He checked in voluntarily,” said Dr. Singh, “he can leave whenever he wants. If you want to have another doctor look after him, I understand...”

“It’s not your fault,” said Kurt. “I shouldn’t have gone downstairs in the first place.”

“Baby, don’t put the blame for what happened on yourself,” said Courtney. “Look, I know how something like what happened to you can fuck with your head, Kurt. Your reactions are perfectly natural, but you can’t take blame for what happened to you, because even if you put yourself down there, it’s not your fault. This asshole abused his authority to violate you.” She rubbed his arm up and down to soothe him. “You did nothing wrong.”

Kurt went quiet. Courtney continued to pet and stroke and cuddle him like a nervous puppy, and Dr. Singh sighed.

“As I said before,” he said, “if there is anything within my power to do to help you through this, I’m more than eager to help you. She’s right, you know, Kurt. I bear more responsibility for what happened to you than you ever did, and I wish to set things right.”

Courtney gave Dr. Singh a skeptical glance, and nodded. “Sure,” she said.

“Can we go back to my room now?” asked Kurt. “There’s… other stuff I wanna talk about.”

“Of course, baby,” Courtney said, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Go right on ahead,” said Dr. Singh. “I have some calls to make.”

Courtney and Kurt both left Dr. Singh’s office, and crossed the nearly empty rec room area over to the patient rooms. The only soul in the rec room was Lester, sitting in his wheelchair by a window. He turned his scarred head to look at Kurt.

“I knew you were a little queer boy,” he said with a wicked smile.

Courtney began storming her way across the room towards him, screaming “SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, YOU MISERABLE OLD FART!” before Kurt stopped her by grabbing onto her arm.

“Lester’s not worth your trouble,” said Kurt. “Just ignore him, he hates it when you ignore him.”

“Yeah,” said Lester. “Listen to your fairy husband! Ignore me!”

“That’s nice, Lester!” Kurt shouted as he guided Courtney away from him. “See you in Hell, Lester!”

Lester just cackled as Kurt took Courtney’s hand and led her into his room. He shut the door behind him, and as he turned around, he saw Courtney looking at the wall above his bed, covered in drawings.

“Did your new friends make these?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “Including one from the guy I helped escape. He did this one,” Kurt pointed at the pin-up of the cartoon cat woman in a bikini. “The first group therapy session I said I like cats and he gave me this as a gift.”

“Jesus, she’s built like Pamela Anderson,” said Courtney. “Are you into this sort of thing? Cartoon animals with beach ball tits?”

Kurt grinned. “Look, the way I see it, Billy just wanted to combine two things that I love; kitties and titties.” He couldn’t help giggling at the end of the sentence, which surprised Courtney, who just stared at him in disbelief. Kurt cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just find it funny but also very sweet,” he said. “He’s a good kid.”

“Okay,” said Courtney, laughing a little bit. She looked over the wall, and observed the drawings. “Is that me?” she asked, pointing to the portrait Odette had drawn.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “Odette drew that. You should see her paintings. She does a lot of paintings of stuff like cemeteries and suburban neighborhoods and gas stations… very Edward Hopper with some Edvard Munch. I think she actually has a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts. But, yeah. She’ll come by when I’m playing guitar a lot and make song requests.”

“Is she a fan?” Courtney asked.

“Not of me,” said Kurt. “At least not before I got here. I covered ‘Bela Legosi’s Dead’ for her and she gave me that drawing of you. I really like it a lot. I think the colors fit really well.”

“I gotta hear that cover,” said Courtney.

“I recorded it, but I gave the tape to her,” he said. “I asked her if she’ll make me a copy once we’re both out of here, y’know, just to have it.”

Courtney was gradually becoming more relaxed, which in turn, made Kurt feel calmer. She pointed to the portrait of Frances. “Oh my god,” she said breathlessly. “Who did this?”

“Oh, Valerie did,” said Kurt. “Honestly, I think it’s like my favorite drawing on this wall, but don’t tell everybody that.”

“It’s so pretty,” said Courtney, leaning in for a closer look. “God, it looks exactly like her.” She turned to Kurt. “Can I take this home? I want to frame it.”

“Right now?” asked Kurt.

“Yeah,” said Courtney. “We could frame this and put it up in her room. What do you think?”

“Sure,” said Kurt. In truth, he’d miss being able to look at it before bed, but he figured he’d be able to see it anytime he wanted once he went back home. “Just be careful with it, alright?”

Courtney was already prying off the paper from the wall; the drawing had been attached with rolled-up bits of Scotch tape under each of the corners, and she slowly, carefully pulled it from the wall. She held it in her hands, and Kurt looked over her shoulder at it.

“I love it,” she said. “It kind of reminds me of some old fashioned baby portrait, you know? Not like an old photograph but like a painting, almost.”

Kurt rested his chin on her shoulder. “I’ll tell her how much you love it,” he said. “I think she’ll appreciate it.”

Courtney turned her head towards Kurt, and kissed him on the lips. He wrapped her arms around her, and just held onto her as she started to kiss him deeper, and though he kissed her back for a few moments, the image of Dr. Wallace standing over him with the camera flashed into his mind, he pulled back suddenly.

“Are you okay?” Courtney asked.

“I need to sit back down again,” said Kurt. He still had his blanket draped around him like a cloak, and he sat on the bed, the mattress springs creaking beneath him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Courtney asked.

Kurt hesitated. “I feel like I remember more than I should have remembered,” he said. “But the stuff from before he gave me those pills… that’s stuff I remember very clearly. I thought at first he was just giving me a hard time because of all the trouble I caused, but he kept… _ looking _ at me. He even noticed my wedding band and asked me if I loved you and… how the fuck am I supposed to answer a question like that coming from a doctor, you know?”

“Why would he ask that?” Courtney asked.

Kurt slumped against the wall. “People here have been… spreading rumors about me being gay,” said Kurt.

Courtney frowned. “Kurt,” she said, “I’m just gonna come out and say it. Have you been doing stuff with Krist behind my back?”

“What, no!” Kurt said, perhaps a little too defensively, sitting up straight. “I would not, I would _ never, _ I love you, you know that--”

“Kurt, don’t fucking lie to me,” said Courtney. “You already told me about how you feel about him and he’s been visiting you more than I have. If you’ve been fucking him while he’s here, you can just tell me.”

Kurt slumped back again, and tilted his head back against the wall. “We made out,” said Kurt. “We didn’t fuck. We couldn’t fuck, even if we wanted to.”

Courtney’s expression was grim. “Why him?” she asked.

“What, would you not have a problem if I fucked some other guy?” Kurt asked.

“I thought you’d probably hook up with Michael Stipe that one time you were staying with him.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t,” said Kurt. “He never came onto me, and I just… I admire him, but I don’t feel the same way about him--”

“… Like you do about Krist,” Courtney interrupted, her disappointment palpable.

“You know,” said Kurt, “I told Krist this, but I didn’t tell you, but… I wish I could have both of you, together. Like the three of us just living together, all of us loving each other equally, as like this unit, you know? I don’t want you to be jealous of him, it hurts to know that you feel jealous of him, because I still love you--”

“Kurt, normal relationships don’t work with three fucking people,” said Courtney. “It just doesn’t work like that, so of course I’m going to be fucking jealous. Honestly, I wish you could just go solo so you wouldn’t have to be tempted by hanging around him all the time--”

“No,” said Kurt. “I can’t. I thought about it before when I was more manic, but… I can’t do that to the guys,” said Kurt. “Krist was there for me when I needed him the most, I can’t just turn my back on him and kick him to the curb.”

“I said ‘I wish,’ not ‘you should,’” Courtney clarified. “But I just… I can’t share you, Kurt. I can’t.”

“But you had no problem sharing yourself with Billy Corgan,” Kurt said bitterly.

“That was a one-time thing!” said Courtney. “And I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that but I fucked up and I did because I was angry and spiteful, and I regret it every single day, okay?” She stood in front of Kurt, feet apart, arms wide open and hunched over in a gesture of frustration and vulnerability.

“I’ve cheated before too,” said Kurt. “I cheated on my last girlfriend to be with you. Is that what you’re scared of? That I’ll leave you for Krist, even though I’ve said that I don’t want to do that?”

“Kurt...” Courtney was defeated at this point, slumping against the wall beside all of the artwork Kurt had put up. “Let me just… think about this, okay? You’ve been through a lot in just the past 24 hours and I don’t want to be the cause of yet another thing making you feel like shit right now. But I gotta protect my own feelings too, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt mumbled.

“I’m sorry too,” said Courtney, running a hand through her hair. It was obvious to Kurt she was making a great effort to remain calm, considering the circumstances. “You’ve been through something very traumatic.”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah.”

The both of them went silent for a while, which allowed Kurt to retreat back into the events of the previous night. He remembered taking the pills, and how everything after that was like Kurt trying to recall some very distant memory… a song by WHAM!, a song by Murray Head, the click of a camera shutter going off as Dr. Wallace stood over him, wearing a straitjacket, an increasing feeling of losing complete control over his limbs, Dr. Wallace grinning and talking, the feeling of his hands jerking him off and probing his anus… he felt a cold pit in his stomach and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, but at the same time, there was a much more shameful rush of heat to his groin.

“You know, it’s funny,” Kurt finally said, “doing benefits for rape victims and reading and hearing stories from survivors… it’s hard to appreciate some of the things they say until you experience it first hand, you know?”

Courtney said nothing, though it was clear she was listening very closely.

“I think the worst part, worse than knowing that guy was taking photographs… was that even though I didn’t want it, and I just wanted to run away screaming but I couldn’t even move… the worst part was that… I was _ aroused _ by it.” He looked up at Courtney, who was covering her mouth and on the verge of tears. “I get it now,” he said quietly.

No longer able to hold herself back, Courtney rushed over to the bed and wrapped Kurt into a desperate embrace, and started crying. Kurt just rocked back and forth as his eyes started to water. He couldn’t even sob, or scream, or wail like he wanted to. He felt too numb, and his sorrow came more from making his wife cry than anything else.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Courtney asked.

Kurt nodded.

“I think you’re being stubborn,” she said, “and I don’t think it’s the right choice for you.”

“I don’t need any more criticisms of my choices right now,” said Kurt.

There was a knock at the door. Courtney sighed and got up, opening it to show the two police officers that she’d spoken with only about an hour before.

“Hello again, Mrs. Love,” said Lieutenant Hughes. “You said your husband was ready to submit a written statement?”

Courtney looked back to Kurt, who gave a simple nod. The two officers came in, and the questioning began. Patterson took notes while Hughes asked questions, and Kurt answered to the best of his ability. Kurt decided to leave the ghosts of those from the Day the Music Died, but otherwise told them as much as he was able to remember, including the detail of a handheld Nikon camera that Dr. Wallace had used. He noticed that the officers asked him several times during their questions if Kurt was, in fact, sure that a camera had been found. Patterson handed him a form to fill out for his written statement, and Kurt essentially repeated every point he made before, just written down. As he handed the paper back to Hughes, he asked, “Are you sure you guys didn’t see a camera?” he asked.

“No,” said Hughes, “and you’re the only person that’s reported seeing one. We’re going to need to do some investigation to see if we can find it.”

“Okay,” said Kurt softly.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir… ma’am,” Hughes looked from Kurt to Courtney as he spoke. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

“I’d like to ask something,” said Courtney, stepping closer to Lieutenant Hughes.

“And what’s that, ma’am?”

“Keep the fucking tabloids away from my husband,” she said, “if could. _ Please. _” She didn’t break eye-contact with the Lieutenant as she said this, and stared him down.

Completely unfazed, Lieutenant Hughes cast a glance over to Kurt. “I can try my best, ma’am,” he said. “We know who you are, and we will handle this professionally and discreetly.”

“Good,” said Courtney. “See you around.”

Lieutenant Hughes and Officer Patterson gave each other a look of wordless agreement that it was time to leave, and they did so. Courtney craned her neck out to watch the officers leave, and once they had moved from her line of sight, she went back into Kurt’s room.

“So, asked Courtney, giving a sort of exhausted half-shrug with her arms clapping against the sides of her thighs, “now what?”

“I don’t know,” said Kurt. “Do you wanna stay and maybe meet my new friends?”

“Like Lester?”

“No, the others should probably be around...” said Kurt, just now realizing how empty the floor was, even from his spot in his room, until he caught a glimpse of Stephan and his nurse shuffling down the hall. “Hey!” Kurt called out. “Stephan! Hey!”

Stephan halted mid-step, and approached the door. He nodded at Courtney, with a quick “Good morning, ma’am,” before he stopped in the door frame and looked to Kurt. “We heard about what happened to you, Kurt,” he said. “I saw a vision that you were accosted by a not a man, but a _ demon _ last night, and I prayed, and that vile devil who laid his hands upon you has been divinely punished!”

Courtney looked from Stephan, to Kurt, back to Stephan. “Who the hell is this guy?” she asked.

“He’s a patient here,” said Kurt. “Stephan, this is my wife, Courtney.”

Stephan looked at Courtney. “How do you do, ma’am?” he asked.

“Not very well, actually,” said Courtney. “And not in the mood for your Jesus shit.”

Stephan staggered back slightly. “You should be more grateful,” he said. “There were angels looking out for your husband last night!”

“You know, Stephan, you might actually be right about that,” said Kurt. “There definitely was somebody watching over me. So, thanks.”

Stephan whirled around to look back at Kurt, his face aglow. “You really mean that?”

“Yeah,” said Kurt, and then with a tone bordering on sincerity added, “God bless.”

Stephan looked overjoyed, and rushed back to his nurses side, loudly reciting prayers in Latin and signing the cross. Kurt got up from the bed and stood behind Courtney, who was dumbfounded over the previous events.

“You really shouldn’t encourage him like that,” she said.

“I wasn’t lying, though,” said Kurt. “I really do think somebody was watching out for me.” He looked intensely into Courtney’s eyes.

“Oh fuck, you don’t mean--”

“We don’t have to talk about them right now,” said Kurt. “It might have just been a hallucination, or a dream, I don’t know, but I saw them again, and the Big Bopper was with them, too.”

“Great,” muttered Courtney. “I thought you said you’d been getting better.”

“Who says I’m not?” Kurt asked wryly.

“KURT!”

Kurt looked up and saw Raven waving at him frantically, as well as many of the other patients filtering in as though they’d come out from recess. Raven ran up to the door, followed closely by Odette, Deandra, Maxine and Valerie, the last of whom stopped running once she caught sight of Courtney, and just stood there.

“Kurt!” said Raven again. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m alright,” said Kurt.

“Is this your wife?” Deandra asked, approaching Courtney. “Are you Courtney?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Courtney. “And who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Deandra,” said Deandra, and then motioned to Raven, “this is Raven.”

“Hi,” said Raven, giving her a silly grin.

“This is Odette,” Deandra motioned to her side, where Odette was standing, hugging her chest and looking on with keen interest.

Odette gave a curt wave. “Hello,” she said.

“And… where’s Valerie?” asked Deandra, looking around, though her eye caught Maxine, who was standing just behind her, and she let out a startled, little yelp. “Oh, goodness, Maxine, you spooked me!”

“Valerie’s over there,” said Maxine, looking over her shoulder back at Valerie, who was still standing in the same spot in the hallway. “I don’t know what her problem is.”

Deandra waved over to Valerie, and spoke loudly and slowly to her. “Honey, it’s okay! It’s Kurt’s wife!”

Valerie stood still as a stone, her eyes locked on Courtney.

“Hey,” said Courtney, looking to Kurt, “isn’t Valerie the one that did this drawing of Frances?” She held it up, and Valerie’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of it in her hand.

“Yeah, that’s her,” said Kurt, “but--”

“Hey!” Courtney stepped out into the hall, holding the drawing aloft as she approached Valerie, “I wanted to let you know I love the drawing you made, it’s gorgeous!”

Valerie teetered in place, like a young tree hit by a strong breeze, but didn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” Courtney asked. “I’m not gonna bite you, I just wanted to thank you!”

“Courtney,” said Kurt, tapping his wife on the shoulder, “she’s deaf. She can’t hear you.”

Courtney’s entire mood shifted, and the excitement drained out of her. “Oh,” she said. “But didn’t that lady Deandra just...” she looked to the others to help her out.

“She can read lips pretty well but if you’re charging towards her like that, she’s not gonna like it very much,” Odette said, cutting in mercifully. She turned to Valerie and quickly signed to her as Courtney watched. Valerie didn’t move. Odette yanked her head to the side, gesturing to come on, and finally, Valerie walked forward, joining the crowd of people around the room. Kurt noticed Ned slip by, looking around Maxine’s shoulder to see what was happening, then caught sight of Courtney and quickly moved on.

Valerie looked Courtney up and down until her eyes fixated on the drawing again. Her expression was blank in a way that Kurt had never seen before; Valerie was often pulling very exaggerated faces in response to the things happening around her. Seeing her so stoic felt off-putting, almost eerie, and it was very clear to Kurt that everybody else had picked up on this… except Courtney.

Courtney looked to Odette. “Can you tell her that I love this drawing she did of my daughter, and that I want to frame it and put it in the baby room?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Odette, sounding a little uneasy. She quickly signed to Valarie, including a motion that was easily recognizable as rocking an invisible baby.

Valerie looked down at her feet, and gave a half-hearted “thank you” sign. She looked at Kurt, as though she’d been betrayed somehow, and Kurt reflexively poked his left hand out from the blanket draped over him, making his wedding ring fully visible. Valerie noticed this, and she ran, maneuvering around the group, and Odette groaned and gave chase.

The whole group was quiet for a moment before Courtney looked to Kurt. “Is she normally like that?” she asked him.

Maxine was about to speak, but Deandra put a hand in front of her face. “She’s going through a lot right now,” said Deandra, who cast a quick glare at Maxine. “We all are, in different ways. I’m sure she’ll apologize for her coming across so rude when she’s ready.”

Courtney gave a cautious nod, sensing that, perhaps, it wasn’t a good idea to pry further.

“Maybe you should go,” Maxine said to Courtney. “It’ll be easier that way.”

“Why?” asked Courtney. “I’m here for my husband, who has been traumatized, by the way, by one of this hospital’s staff. Why should I leave?”

“Easier for you,” said Maxine. “Just trying to give you some good advice.” She left abruptly after that, leaving only Deandra and Raven left with Kurt and Courtney.

“Uh… yeah,” said Raven. “Things have kind of… shaken up a bit since last night,” said Raven. “We’re all kind of on edge and freaked out.”

“It’s absolutely terrible what happened to you, honey,” said Deandra, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “If you ever want someone to talk to, let me know, okay?”

“Thanks, Deandra,” said Kurt.

Deandra looked at Courtney. “You found yourself a good man,” she said. “You best take care of him, ‘less somebody else here snatch him up.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna let that happen,” said Courtney.

Deandra extended a hand to Courtney, and Courtney took hold, and they shook hands with one gentle shake. “You take care, sweetie,” she said, and left, he head held high, and her posture perfect, as usual.

Raven shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked at his feet before he looked back up to Courtney. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Love,” he said. “See ya around.” And with that, he turned on his heel and scurried off.

Courtney watched as Raven left, and she and Kurt were alone again. She looked at Kurt. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “I am. Promise you’ll visit me often?”

“Of course,” said Courtney, and she took Kurt’s face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth, taking care not to go too deeply into the kiss, even though Kurt could tell she really wanted to do just that. “If anybody does anything weird to you, you let me know. Promise?”

“I promise,” said Kurt.

“Good,” said Courtney, and she slid her arms under the blanket to hold onto him tight, enveloping them both in the worn-out, green cloth, and Kurt softly hummed into her ear a familiar tune without even realizing what he was humming; “Everyday” by Buddy Holly.


	16. Scene Not Heard

Courtney didn’t stay much longer after the incident with Valerie, leaving with a kiss, a hug, and a promise that if she didn’t come back tomorrow, she’d come back the day after, and she would bring Frances with her. Shortly after she left, a nurse came in with Kurt’s lunch. He was only really able to eat half his sandwich before he set the tray aside and wandered out into the hallway to the rec room, his notebook under one arm. He approached the drawing table, where Raven, Odette, and Valerie were sitting in their usual spots, though Valerie was avoiding eye contact with Kurt. Billy’s chair was now occupied by Deandra, who had an array of nail polish bottles in front of her.

“Hey, Kurt!” she called out, and gestured for him to sit down beside her. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” said Kurt. “You doing your nails?”

“Yeah,” said Deandra.

“… Could you do mine?” Kurt asked.

Deandra grinned. “And what color would you like this time?”

Kurt looked over the half a dozen bottles she had set up on the table. He picked one up, and squinted as he read the label. “I guess I’ll take the seafoam green,” he said, putting it back down.

“Surprised you didn’t go for something darker,” said Odette.

“I thought you might have used up the last of the black,” said Kurt.

“Oh, I got plenty of black,” said Deandra. “I make sure I got enough stocked up. Did you want that instead?”

“Nah,” said Kurt. “I’m thinking something brighter might help.”

“Sure thing,” said Deandra. “Now, lemme see those nails.”

Kurt splayed his fingers on both hands and presented them to Deandra. She took his left hand and picked up a nail file, and began buffing them.

“So...” said Kurt, “what’s been going on?”

“That’s what we’ve all been wanting to ask you,” said Raven. “That is… if it’s okay to ask about what happened.”

“I wanna know what you guys know,” said Kurt.

Raven looked to Odette, who shrugged. “He wants to know,” she said.

“Okay,” said Raven with a heavy sigh, as he scooted his chair closer to Kurt. “So, here’s what I’ve been able to piece together by trying to eavesdrop and talking to other patients. You and Billy went to the bottom floor and were caught busting out his twin brother, Bobby, with a key card Billy swiped off one of the orderlies. Billy and Bobby went fucking berserk and escaped by climbing the fence, and then rode a bus and hitchhiked to their grandma’s house. You got left behind and piled on by a bunch of orderlies and got drugged up and restrained and sent to the doctor’s office. And after that… everything seems a lot less clear. You were caught around 11 and the doctor came in after midnight to help calm things down and he went in to see you around 1 AM. After that, nobody really knows what happened, but a nurse heard screaming and a bunch of people came in to see Dr. Touchy-Fingers up against the wall in shock, while you’re in a straitjacket on the same table, in a ‘compromising position’ and not able to move and eventually you passed out before the cops arrived and started their investigation. I think the cops think the doc might even be faking his condition just to keep from going to jail, but I don’t know how accurate that is. And then your wife came in earlier this morning and started screaming at people and that’s all I know.”

“Ah,” said Kurt, giving Deandra his other hand so she could work on his nails with the file. “I see.”

“Did I get anything wrong?” asked Raven.

“The stuff that I remember sounds mostly accurate,” said Kurt. “Billy didn’t go berserk on anybody, though. It was just Bobby. That guy’s crazy strong. And only one guy pinned me to the ground.”

“Why were you even down there with Billy in the first place?” asked Odette.

“He wanted me to help bust his brother out,” said Kurt.

“Yeah, but… why?” Odette asked.

“Why did he want to bust Bobby or why did I agree to it?”

“Both,” said Odette.

“Well, the first one, Billy was scared that Bobby was gonna get electroshock,” said Kurt. “The second one… I don’t know. I felt bad, I guess.”

“Why?” asked Raven.

“They sedate you for electroshock,” said Odette. “I’ve had it done to me. It’s not like it is in the movies where you’re totally awake.”

“They used to do it that way,” Kurt mumbled.

“Yeah, but this is the 90’s, Kurt,” said Odette. “That’s all in the past.”

“So’s using straitjackets,” said Kurt, “but that didn’t stop Dr. Wallace from putting me in one.”

“Sorry,” said Odette, “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay,” said Kurt. “Did any of you guys… _ know _ about him?”

“I heard he was kind of creepy,” said Raven, “but that’s about it.”

“Same,” said Deandra. “You really shouldn’t bite your fingernails, you know. Your cuticles are in some bad shape.”

“Nervous habit,” was all the excuse Kurt could offer. “What about you, Odette? Or Valerie?”

Odette shrugged. She then signed quickly to Valerie, and the two had a brief back and forth, though Valerie would cast a quick glance at Kurt before quickly looking away again. “Neither of us knew,” said Odette. “Valerie was under his care for a few days but nothing like what happened to you happened to her.”

Kurt pondered this for a moment, before he asked, “Do any of you know if Ned knew about him?”

“Ned?” asked Raven. “You think Ned might have…?” He trailed off as he looked around the rec room, and his gaze fell upon Ned, who was sitting in a chair and reading a magazine. “He’s over there,” he said, and pointed over Kurt’s shoulder. “You could ask him.”

“Not yet,” said Deandra, gripping Kurt’s wrist to keep him in place. “You don’t need to deal with him right now. Just relax.”

Kurt looked back to Ned, and Ned didn’t even appear to notice he was even in the same room, as Ned pushed his glasses up his nose and flipped to the next page. Kurt sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Okay,” said Kurt.

He let himself relax as Deandra applied the base coat of polish to his nails. He looked around the table, and noticed that while both Odette and Raven were busy drawing, Valerie appeared to be in the middle of writing something with great concentration and intensity. Her pen flew across the page with each line, her hand snapping back to the left side of the page over and over, like the platen of a typewriter. It made Kurt want to write or draw something for himself, but his hands were currently occupied. There was a quiet that drifted down over the table and settled, like a quiet, late-night snowfall. Kurt was able to get a good view of what Raven was drawing, which looked like a rendition of Jason Voorhees of the _ Friday the 13 _ _ th _ movies from memory, his massive arm in an upswing, holding a machete, as though he were about to bring it down on the viewer.

“That’s fuckin’ awesome,” said Kurt.

“You think so?” asked Raven. “I’m trying to practice with forced perspective. You sure it’s not too forced?” He spun the paper around so that Kurt could get a better look.

“I think if any drawing is worthy of forced perspective, it’s a drawing of Jason about to kill you,” said Kurt.

“Ha ha, yeah, good point,” said Raven, and he turned the paper back around to continue drawing.

“Are you gonna get a job working in art?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, man, I’d love to,” said Raven. “Actually, getting disowned by my parents and dropping out of college might be one of those opportunities that Dr. Singh is always going on about. I really want to work in comics, you know? It’s been my dream job since I was a kid.”

“Then you should do it,” said Kurt. “You’ve got nothing to lose.”

“The only thing is, I don’t know how to break into it,” said Raven. “I used to just make my own little comics in school that I’d show my friends and maybe make a few copies of with the school copier, but my parents found them and they threw all my comics out, telling me that they were too violent and I wasn’t gonna make money doing that.”

“Jesus,” said Kurt, “that sucks, I’m sorry, dude.”

Odette looked up from her own drawing. “You know,” she said, “you could put together a portfolio and maybe try and do some of your comics again. I’ve known people who have sold some homemade ‘zines at comic book and record stores just to get their names out there, and if somebody comes across your work, you have a portfolio ready if they want to contact you and see what you’re capable of.”

“I’ve never put together a portfolio,” said Raven. “I’ve just got a bunch of sketchbooks.”

“I can help you,” said Odette. “Once we’re both out of here, I can show you how to set up your portfolio.”

Raven perked up, and broke out into a sappy grin. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Odette. “I’ll give you my number.”

Raven let out a bashful laugh as he tried to hide his reddening face behind his hair. “Thanks,” he said.

Kurt couldn’t help but crack a smile as Odette quickly wrote down her phone number on a scrap of paper and slid it across the table to Raven. Raven took the paper and slipped it into his breast pocket. He looked at Kurt with a smirk, and waggled his eyebrows in mock suaveness.

“Gee, Raven, you’re one smooth operator, huh?” said Kurt.

“Yeah, Kurt, I am,” said Raven, his face still red. “You jealous?”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Romeo,” said Odette. “I’m not so easily wooed by a dork like you.”

“Yeah, well, this dork just got your digits, and maybe we could see a movie together when we’re both out of here!” said Raven, puffing out his chest. “So there!”

“We’ll see,” said Odette slyly.

Valerie hadn’t looked up once during all of this; Kurt had been looking back to her every once in a while and couldn’t help but notice. Valerie would usually have her gaze fixed on any people engaged in even casual conversation, studying their faces to get an idea of what was going on around her, but now she just seemed totally shut off.

Deandra worked quickly with Kurt’s nails, going through the base coat, a second coat, and a top coat with an almost assembly-line speed and precision. “There,” she said, leaning back as she screwed the cap back into the jar of polish, “how’s it look?”

Kurt wiggled his fingers. The seafoam green wasn’t a color he had used before, but it was soft and subtle, and he was pleased with it. “Looks great,” he said with a smile. “Thanks, Dee.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said. 

Kurt laid his hands flat on the table surface, and retreated into his own head. He tapped his fingers on the table as though he were pressing keys on a toy piano in his mind. That song, “Everyday,” was stuck in his head. He was trying to remember what happened between Dr. Wallace straddling him, ready to penetrate him, and waking up in his room the next morning, and he couldn’t remember much… aside from a memory of that fucking song. He’d had a dream of the trio of ghosts from the Day the Music Died hovering over him, arguing with each other but setting aside their differences for Kurt, like some sort of weird, dysfunctional family unit… of ghosts.

The more he tried to recall, the more he remembered Dr. Wallace talking about rumors spreading, and how he needed to talk to Ned. His patience spent and his nails dry enough, he pushed his chair back as he got up from the table, and walked across the rec room, stopping just short of Ned, still sitting in an armchair, flipping through the pages of a two-month old issue of National Geographic with a sea turtle on the cover.

“Hey,” said Kurt.

Ned looked up from the magazine. “Oh, hey, Blondie,” he said. “You doing okay?”

“I need to talk to you,” said Kurt. “It’s important.”

Ned looked over his shoulders, assessing the proximity of the other patients around him. Dissatisfied, he set his magazine down on the arm of his chair, and stood up. “Let’s talk somewhere a bit more private,” he said, and put a hand to Kurt’s back as he guided him to a secluded corner. Once they were isolated from the other patients, Ned did another furtive scan of the room before he leaned in close to Kurt. “Is this about what happened to you last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt.

“Listen,” said Ned, “I’m sure you’ve heard this plenty, but what happened is not your fault. I’m sorry about what happened--”

“Did you ever talk with Dr. Wallace?” Kurt asked.

Ned was taken aback. “Wh-what?” he sputtered.

“He said he heard rumors about me,” said Kurt, his voice low and husky. “Where could he have heard them from, Ned? Who else knew about me and Krist aside from you?”

Ned’s face fell, and he looked as though he were about to be ill. “Oh, no,” he muttered. “Oh, no, no, no… Kurt...”

“Tell me, Ned.”

Ned looked up at Kurt from over his glasses, the heel of his palm pressed over his mouth. He shook his head. “I only ever mentioned it to Charlie,” he said. “I swear, I… I never told Wallace about you.”

“You knew him,” said Kurt.

“Yeah,” Ned admitted. “Look, I didn’t know him _well,_ but… well, we all have urges, and I’d heard rumors about one of the doctors being into kinky shit, and I know it’s wrong, but… we hooked up anyway. Charlie introduced me. Charlie’s not the only gay orderly around here, either, but Dr. Wallace had heard about me because, I dunno, I guess he scouts out people he wants to bang through the orderlies.”

“So did Charlie tell him about me, then?”

“God, I hope not,” said Ned. “Charlie… he’s had my back here. I don’t think it was him, I just can’t believe that it’d be him…”

“Then who else could it be?” asked Kurt.

“Like I said… Charlie’s not the only queen in this castle,” said Ned. “Maybe he accidentally said something? I don’t…” Ned spun around, and looked right to Charlie, who was standing at the mouth of the opposite hallway, keeping watch.

“I’ll talk to him myself, then,” said Kurt, but Ned held out his arm, blocking Kurt from moving.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” said Ned quickly. “Listen, if I had to guess who ratted you out to Wallace, I’d guess it was either Randy or Mitch. Charlie probably had nothing to do with this.”

“And how would they have known?” Kurt asked.

“Because they’re very observant, Kurt, it’s part of their job,” said Ned. “They sniffed me out before Charlie did, and they work on multiple floors, including with Wallace. I’d bet good money it was one of them.”

Kurt recalled being pinned by Randy on the ground, and Randy taking an almost sadistic pleasure out of having caught Kurt that night. “I should probably confirm with Charlie,” he said, but Ned’s arm was still blocking him.

“Look, just… just don’t. Not now,” pleaded Ned. “Everybody that works here is on edge over what happened to you last night and your wife coming in this morning screaming at everybody. He might have an easier time talking to me about this than the guy at the center of this.”

“And how do I know you’re not trying to cover for him?” Kurt asked.

Ned lowered his arm, and sighed. “I’m not trying to cover for him, Kurt,” he said frankly. “I just know that he’s been as rattled by this as the rest of us. In retrospect, I probably should have guessed that a guy like Wallace was capable of doing what he did to you, but I didn’t think about that at the time. Being horny makes you do some real dumb shit.”

“I just need to know if anybody knew,” said Kurt. “And I wanna hear it straight from the source. I wanna look them in the eye when they tell me.”

“Understandable,” said Ned. “I get that. Look, if I somehow had a part in what happened to you… I’m sorry, Kurt. I never wanted anything like that to happen to you or anybody, and I’ve been hearing things that seem to indicate you weren’t the only person that this has happened to.”

Kurt repressed a shudder. “How long has this been going on?”

“I honestly have no idea,” said Ned. “I didn’t know how bad this was, I thought he was only fucking orderlies and the occasional willing patient participant, you know?”

“Did he pull out a camera when he was with you?”

“Camera?” Ned asked. “No, not that I remember. I haven’t heard anything about a camera.”

“Can you do me a favor and try and find something about it? Because I swear I remember him taking photos of me, and nobody’s been able to find it, and I don’t even know for sure if it was something I hallucinated. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t, but things got really weird after I was drugged.”

“Yeesh,” said Ned. “That’s awful. I’ll try and keep my ear to the ground regarding a camera, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Thanks, Ned,” said Kurt.

“Hey,” Ned put a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, and looked him in the eye, “if you wanna talk to somebody about this… I’m here for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” said Kurt softly, nodding. He patted Ned’s hand before he walked off back to the drawing table. He sat back down in the same seat, and set his hands out flat on the table again as his nails dried.

“Everything okay?” Deandra asked.

“Yeah,” said Kurt.

“So does Ned know anything?” Raven asked.

“Yes and no,” said Kurt. “It’s not for me to say.”

Valerie lifted her head and looked to Kurt. She set her pen down, and folded up the paper she’d been writing on. She fiddled with the paper nervously for a moment before she got up and walked to Kurt, placing the paper in front of Kurt. She then patted him on the shoulder before she walked away. Kurt turned and watched her go until she disappeared down the hall and out of view, and he looked down at the paper in front of him. He delicately picked it up, trying not to let his fingernails touch anything as he did, and he started to unfold it, but stopped as he opened the top flap and saw that it was a letter. Quite a long letter, actually. Kurt scooted his chair back and took the letter and his notebook with him as he left. “I’ll see you guys later,” he said as he walked away.

“We’re always here for you, sweetie,” said Deandra, calling after him.

Kurt went back to his room, staring at the letter the whole time, and when he got back to his room, he set aside his notebook, sat down on his bed, and opened the letter to read it in full.

_ Dear Kurt, _

_ I should probably start by saying that I am sorry about how I reacted to seeing your wife this morning. I saw her holding that drawing I did of your daughter for you and I was immediately struck by jealousy and anger. I drew that for you, and it shocked me to see her holding it. I know that she didn’t know I am deaf but I still felt insulted by her ignorance anyway. I had been so worried about you after what happened last night, and I knew that she had come in and was giving everyone a hard time. She didn’t leave a good impression on me and I reacted immaturely, even though I know that you love her very much and should have been more considerate to your feelings, and hers. She was worried about you. We’ve all been worried about you. _

_ Everybody knows what Dr. Wallace did. I think I can relate to the pain you must be feeling because it’s happened to me too. It happened to me a lot. I don’t like talking about it very much but Dr. Singh has told me that it probably left a deep impact on my sexuality and how I relate sex and love. This is hard for me to write. Ever since middle school, I would seek out boys for sex, hoping it would get me the love I wanted, but instead everybody called me a deaf slut. I had garbage thrown on me. People would destroy my books and my drawings. There would be graffiti on my desk saying that I was a whore. I hated myself and I hated everybody. This went all the way up until high school, and even when I got into university. I know people here talk about me like I’m just boy-crazy, but it’s deeper than that. I tried to sleep with a couple different patients here because I still keep looking for love. I even tried to sleep with Raven but he freaked out and panicked and almost got us caught. He’s shyer around girls than he wants people to know. Then I saw you and you were so pretty, I could feel my heart in my ears, but then you said you were married. But I am stubborn. I thought maybe you liked me back a little. It’s why I have written you so many notes and made you so many drawings. I kept flirting with you. But then I saw your wife with you and the illusion I’d made for myself was broken. _

_ I know it’s wrong but I feel like I’m in love with you, and I want to protect you from anybody else ever hurting you again. Dr. Wallace is an evil man and he will pay for what he did to you. But I also know that I can’t have you. It hurts. It’s probably a bad idea to tell you all of this right after what happened but I am anyway, and I know that you probably don’t feel the same way towards me. I saw some of the staff talking about you and that tall friend of yours that comes over and how you might have something with him, but it’s hard to eavesdrop when you can’t hear, and people usually notice if you are staring at their faces for too long. I want cochlear implants. I want to hear things again. Everybody at university was deaf or hard of hearing and they make such a big deal out of having a culture that’s under attack by people that can hear. A lot of them have never been able to hear, but I did once, and I still remember sounds. I miss hearing music. I want to hear your music. I didn’t have very many friends in university anyway. They don’t like how I miss hearing. They don’t like me wanting to save up for cochlear implants. They made me feel bad for it. Maybe if I was born deaf I would not feel this way, but I can still hear music in my dreams. In my dreams I can hear your music, your voice. It probably doesn’t sound anything like you do in real life. _

_ There was a song I heard all the time right before I got sick, when I was really little, and I would dance to it when it came on the radio. It was called “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” You probably know that one. I read the lyrics to it shortly before I came in here. Odette asks you to sing songs for her a lot. I want to hear you sing that song for me. Maybe you playing music is what attracts me to you; you have something I can’t have. It’s a mystery I cannot know. I want some small piece of you to be able to carry with me. I’m sorry if this puts you in an awkward position, because you mostly just seem like you want to be friends with me, and I want more. I know you’ve been having trouble in your marriage, and you might have some kind of affair with your tall friend that plays bass. I won’t tell anyone. I’m good at keeping secrets. I know I’ve said a lot in this letter. It’s probably all over the place. I’m sorry. I want to see you happy and safe. I’d like it if you wrote me back. Maybe we can work something out. _

_ Sincerely yours, _

_ Valerie _

Kurt read and re-read the letter over two or three times before he put it down. He let his head fall back against the wall and stared at the ceiling as he let it all sink in. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the bed, sitting, staring, thinking. Eventually, he picked up his notebook, and flipped to an empty page. He started to write.

_ Valerie, _

_ I read your letter, and I have a lot on my mind right now. You told me, well, a lot, and it’s going to take a while for me to work through everything there. I want to try and keep this brief because I think maybe it would be best if we discuss this in person. I know my sign language sucks but we can write back and forth if we have to, like a proper conversation. _

_ First, I accept your apology about Courtney, and I kind of figured that you were jealous. I didn’t make the connection about the drawing. She saw it on my wall, she loved it, and I told her that she could take it home and hang it in Frances’ room. I never thought that it would be a problem for her to take it. And while it is true that we’ve had problems in our relationship, I want more than anything to make it work with her. I don’t want to go through a divorce like my parents did, and put my daughter through the same thing I went through, knowing how much that divorce traumatized me. I also love Courtney so much but it’s a tumultuous kind of love; we’ve exploded at each other, fought a lot, yelled at each other, but I want to give it a try. I still love Courtney and I want Francis to grow up with parents that love her and love each other. The stuff with Krist is more complicated. I can tell you about that in person. Word has gotten around to people, including Dr. Wallace, and I’m pretty pissed off about it, especially because that creepy dentist-looking motherfucker used our relationship as an excuse to try and justify raping me. I hope he fucking drops dead. _

_ Second, reading about what you went through saddened me and made me angry. I wish I could have been there to beat the shit out of those fucking grade school kids and everybody else that hurt you. You should have never gone through what you went through. I hate rapists. I despise them, and it fucks me up when I talk with somebody and they trust me enough to tell me that something like that happened to them, because my instinct is telling me “find that fucker that did it and stomp their face into a bloody pulp.” For that to happen to you, and for you to have been so young… saying “I’m sorry” just feels insulting. That’s not gonna undo years of abuse. Just know that you didn’t deserve any of that, and you should be angry about it. Somebody once said “Anger is a gift.” I think it was Malcolm X, I don’t remember, but I definitely heard it in a song by that band Rage Against the Machine. But that’s besides the point, though. The point is that you can use your anger to get the justice you deserve, or even get it for others who have been through similar trauma. You’re a survivor, and you’re probably stronger than I am. _

_ Third, in regards to your feelings towards me, I figured that you at least had some kind of crush on me. I didn’t know why, and I really should have put up that barrier earlier but I’m a selfish asshole and I was enjoying the attention of somebody new, somebody that wasn’t a fan and wasn’t trying to kiss up to me because of fame. I don’t know what it is that you see in me. I could only guess from the drawings you’ve done of me, which I have to say, are the best looking portraits anybody has ever done of me. I’m an ugly, scrawny bastard so I’m always kind of surprised when somebody tells me otherwise. It’s kind of funny that you say you find me mysterious, because I honestly felt the same towards you. There was a short period of time after my failed suicide attempt where I couldn’t hear anything except ringing in my ears and I was afraid I’d gone permanently deaf. That scared the shit out of me. Turns out it was just tinnitus (I think I spelled that right), and I’m able to hear again just fine. But when I met you, I found myself wondering what it would be like if I had gone deaf, or what my life might have been like if I had never been able to hear anything at all. _

_ Man, what happened to this letter being “brief?” Didn’t take long for me to screw that up. _

_ How much does it cost to get cochlear implants, anyway? Because I’ve got a lot of disposable income. I can’t give you my love, but I can cover the costs to get them for you. All of it, on me. You don’t owe me anything else. Your kindness and your art have been more than enough, and remaining friends after we’re both out would be a nice bonus. I’m dead serious. It’s the least I can do. _

_ All the best, _

_ Kurt _

Kurt had written on both sides of two pieces sheets of notebook paper. He tore out both pages, and folded them together. He stood up and walked out into the hallway, stopping just outside of Valerie’s room. He instinctively knocked on the door before remembering how fucking useless that was. Instead, he opened the door just wide enough to poke his arm inside, and waved. He waited a few seconds and heard nothing, so he poked his head inside.

She wasn’t in. Her bed was neatly made, she had multiple books and magazine stacked neatly next to the head of the bed, and along the walls were many drawings, the majority done by her, of different animals and fantasy creatures, as well as doe-eyed girls in fantastical outfits that reminded Kurt of that old cartoon _ Battle of the Planets _ from when he was a kid, or maybe _ Speed Racer. _ He placed the letter on her pillow, right in the center, as though he were a maid leaving a mint on a hotel room pillow. He took one last glance around her room at her artwork, and left to go back to his room.


	17. Paydirt

Kurt had only been writing in his journal for less than a half an hour before he heard his door creak open. Standing there in the doorway was Valerie, holding the letter Kurt had given her, looking absolutely giddy and trembling in excitement. “You… mean it?” she said aloud.

Kurt nodded. He flipped to a blank page and wrote in his notebook, in large letters, “I AM SERIOUS,” and showed it to Valerie.

She squealed, and ran over to the bed to wrap her arms around Kurt, and squeezed him as tightly as her arms could handle. “THANK YOU!” she said, loudly and excitedly. 

Kurt patted Valerie on the back, but as she pressed further against him, he found himself fully reciprocating her embrace. She held onto him for a while, burying her face in his hair, nuzzling him. Kurt poked her shoulder, and she pulled back from him, her eyes turning moist with tears.

“We need to work out how to get you your implants,” Kurt said slowly, mouthing each word carefully. “If you can set something up, I’ll pay for it.”

Valerie nodded, spelling the letters for “O” and “K” over and over again hastily, hitting the “K” into her palm as though stamping a piece of paper with it. She didn’t have her white board with her, and she looked around for it for a second before realizing she hadn’t brought it in with her. “You’re… not mad at me?” she asked.

“No,” said Kurt, shaking his head. 

“You’re very… nice,” said Valerie.

Kurt bowed his head as he blushed. He did the sign for “thank you” as he did. 

Valerie bounced in place on the bed anxiously, rapping her knuckles together, not sure what to do with herself. “I need… to go...” she said.

“You didn’t want to talk?” Kurt asked, making a talking gesture with his hand as though he were manipulating an invisible Muppet.

“I will… later...” said Valerie as she got up off the bed. “I need to go. Bye-bye!” She waved good-bye to Kurt with her entire arm, and Kurt waved back with his fingers before she turned and ran back to her room in excitement. Kurt craned his head as he watched her go.

For the first time in a long time, Kurt felt genuinely good. To be able to use the ridiculous amount of money he’d made to actually help somebody, and to see them get excited, it felt really good. It was true that this was far from the first time Kurt had put money towards charity, his most recent charity work was raising money towards support for those who were suffering in Bosnia’s civil war, but Kurt had never been to Bosnia. Maybe someday he would go, but the only reason that Kurt could find Bosnia on a map was because the country was cradled by Croatia, a country from which Krist claimed heritage. It wasn’t the same as having someone, right in front of him, light up like a firecracker at Kurt promising to help her get cochlear implants. Even though she’d made it very clear that she was in love with him, he still hoped, perhaps naively, that they might be able to remain friends. That night, he decided he would call up Courtney about helping Valerie out, and perhaps give his mother a call, though he hoped she didn’t have to know what, exactly, happened to him last night.

And he would do both of these things; Courtney was hesitant at first over helping Valerie given how she’d been treated by her that morning, but ultimately agreed to it, and Kurt’s mother danced around the issue of Kurt’s trauma, offering comforting words and attempts to soothe him, with a brief reprieve of being able to say hello to Frances on the phone. Kurt hung up after he finished his calls and went back to his room to see a fresh drawing on his bed from Valerie. It was a stylized drawing of him with Frances as he held her in her arms, and it fit in the exact spot that Kurt had put up the previous portrait of Frances. He taped it in the empty spot, and sat on the bed, just looking up at it, and all the drawings on his wall.

Kurt heard the sound of paper scooting across the floor, and looked down to see Valerie’s hand poking through the ajar door, before she quickly retracted it and ran off again. Kurt got up from the bed and picked up the piece of paper, reading it.

_ We talked with a doctor in another hospital. We can have the procedure done as soon as next month. I’d like you to be there with me, please. _

_ Valerie _

Poking his head out the door, Kurt caught a glimpse of Valerie peeking out her own room door, looking at him expectantly. Kurt nodded and gave her the OK sign with his hand, and she squealed with delight.

Shortly after this, it’d be time for lights out, and Kurt would take his medication and not long afterward, would fall asleep.

~

The next thing that Kurt was aware of was the low, dimmed light of the green room from that dream over two weeks ago, and the feel of a leather chair underneath him. The lights were tinged red, and smoke hung in the air. Kurt half-expected a dwarf in a red suit to come shimmying in and start speaking to him in reversed backwards speech. Instead, the door opened, and instead of Buddy or the Big Bopper or Ritchie, in strode Anubis, sporting a new suit. It was a purple, polyester leisure suit with a shimmering, gold leaf shirt underneath, and his shoes were dark leather with pointed tips, and polished to perfection. He wore gold-rimmed tea-shades, and he had a cigar clenched firmly between his pointed teeth as he strolled into the room, carrying the same briefcase he’d had last time.

“You’re back,” he said, finally speaking for the first time to Kurt. His voice was deep and gravely, somewhere between Tom Waits and Tone-Loc. “How are you enjoying your new path?”

Kurt felt paralyzed. He just watched as Anubis smirked and sat down on the couch on the opposite end of the room, crossing his legs while keeping his thighs as far apart as possible, so that his ankle was resting on the opposite knee.

“What’s the matter?” asked the God of Death. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Where’s the Bopper?” Kurt asked.

“He’s not coming to help you,” said Anubis. “That’s not what you want, anyway. What you want is a way to work out all those uncomfortable feelings brought up by your encounter last night, isn’t that right?”

“What I want,” said Kurt, “is to know where that fucking camera is.”

“You can want both,” said Anubis. He sucked on the cigar, burning through the paper, and then let out a billow of smoke into the air above him. In the smoke, Kurt could see an image of a pair of hands grabbing the camera Dr. Wallace had used that night, and tucking the camera away into the pocket of a pair of hospital scrubs.

“Who is that?” Kurt asked. “Who took it?”

Anubis didn’t say anything. He rolled his cigar between his teeth, and used his tongue to bring it to the other side of his mouth. He bared his pearly-white fangs, giving Kurt a good look at his powerful jaws. Anubis lowered his shades and looked Kurt up and down as though he were a slab of meat, and Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and an icy sensation race down his spine.

“It doesn’t matter who took it,” said Anubis. “The two most likely scenarios are either the photos end up leaked online by the end of the decade only to be buried by your lawyers and remain an internet urban legend, or they show up more two decades later on some obscure image board where they’re circulated by degenerates and only talked about in whispers, assumed to be fakes.”

“I don’t want them showing up anywhere,” said Kurt. “I want that camera smashed to pieces and the negatives burned.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” said Anubis. “I can’t do very much for a man whose heart is so heavy.”

“So why are you telling me this if there’s nothing you can do for me?” asked Kurt. “What’s the point?”

“The scales can always be tipped a little further in either direction,” said Anubis, “for a price.”

“This is bullshit,” said Kurt, finally able to move again. He stood up from his chair and stormed toward the green room door. He gripped the knob and twisted, only for his hand to slip off; the knob wouldn’t budge. Kurt uselessly rattled the knob in place, and looked back at Anubis. “Unlock the door.”

“That’s not what you want from me,” said Anubis.

“The fuck it’s not,” said Kurt.

“Is it?” asked Anubis. “We’re in your brain right now. I’m inhabiting your subconscious, and you subconscious is saying to me that you have some unresolved issues you need to work out involving being dominated by a large male with big, white teeth.” The God of Death bared his teeth again.

Kurt shuddered. “Y-y’know,” he said, “for a guy that smokes cigars, you’d think your teeth would be more yellow.”

“Tobacco doesn’t stain the teeth of a god,” said Anubis. He had one arm stretched across the back of the couch, and he patted the back cushion underneath his dark hand, beckoning Kurt to sit. “Come,” he said.

Cautiously, Kurt moved away from the door and sat down on the couch, as close to the arm as possible so that there was distance between him and the god. Anubis rolled the cigar across his mouth again, and puffed out smoke like an agitated dragon. He moved his hand down to Kurt’s shoulder, and pulled him in close to his side. Kurt felt small against him, guessing that he had to be around Krist’s height; taller, if he were to count the god’s stiff, pointed ears, jutting up from his head like the arches of a crown. Anubis leaned in close to Kurt, and sniffed him with his canine nose.

“I believe you once said that no one dies a virgin, because life fucks us all,” said Anubis. His nose was just an inch away from Kurt’s uninjured ear, exhaling hot breath into the outer shell of his ear and causing the hair around it to dance around the air. “So how’d you like to be fucked by death?”

There was a knock at the door, and Anubis and Kurt both whipped their heads around to stare at it. “Hey!” said a familiar voice; it was unmistakably Buddy. “What’s going on in there? How come the door’s locked?”

Anubis rolled his eyes and sighed as he snapped his fingers, and the door swung open as Buddy stumbled in, having been trying the knob as it unlocked. Buddy saw the two of them together and stood up straight, a look of consternation crossing his face.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Buddy asked, trying to puff out his chest as he locked eyes with the God of Death. “Who let you in here, anyway?”

“He did,” said Anubis as he gestured to Kurt. “I’m only here because he wanted someone like me to be here.”

Buddy looked skeptical as he turned to Kurt. “Is that true?”

Kurt shrugged helplessly, resigning himself to whatever was going to happen.

“Alright,” said Buddy, walking towards the couch as he stared down Anubis, “I don’t like whatever it is you’re tryin’ to do here, so I suggest you leave, before--” He was stopped as Anubis stood suddenly to his feet, and Buddy’s entire face was covered by the God of Death’s hand. Anubis held the man in place as he let out muffled swears and struggled underneath his grasp. Slowly, the God of the Dead turned his head and looked to Kurt, removing his shades as he looked down to Kurt with a glint in his dark eyes.

“You had to bring him into this too, didn’t you?” asked Anubis, his voice low and husky. “Is this what you want?”

“L-look,” stammered Kurt, “just let Buddy go, alright? He has nothing to do with… whatever the hell it is that’s going on.”

“You’re traumatized and you’re horny and you stupidly summoned a ghost and an angel disguised as an Egyptian god as stand-ins for your wet dream,” said Anubis, still holding Buddy in place as Buddy railed against Anubis with tightly balled fists, to little avail. “Your rash decisions affecting others beyond yourself is a constant theme in your life, isn’t it? Now you’ve gotten this poor soul involved. I don’t even think he swings that way.”

“Then let him go!” shouted Kurt.

“Oh, but I’ve fucked him before,” said Anubis. “Everyone stuck in this purgatory has to get fucked by me eventually, if they wish to move on.” He tossed Buddy onto the couch, where Buddy face-planted into the cushions. The door to the green room swung shut, and the lock clicked into place. 

Buddy flipped himself over so that he was seated on the couch next to Kurt. He adjusted his crooked glasses and looked at Kurt, his face a mixture of annoyance, disappointment and disapproval. “What the hell did you go and do?”

“I didn’t _ do _anything!” Kurt exclaimed, and pointed at Anubis. “This dog-faced fuck has been blaming all of this on me, saying that I want this and it’s my fault!”

“SILENCE!” bellowed the God of the Dead. He bent down over them, pinning both of them down with his gaze. He lifted Kurt’s chin with his clawed fingers, and looked him in the eye. “Do you know what it’s like to lose yourself in humanity?”

“What?” was all Kurt could say in response.

“An angel that spends time in close proximity to humans adapts their traits,” said Anubis. “Their customs, their language, their desires… each day I stray further from God and become more human. I only have the form I’m using now because humans invented it and know of it. I don’t have to look like this. I could look like anything. I could be your wife, your best friend, the doctor that molested you, your high school principal, the President of the United States, a mugwump… anything at all.”

“Could you not be here?” Kurt asked.

“Ah, but that’s part of it, isn’t it?” asked Anubis. “It’s you not wanting this that makes it such forbidden fruit. That’s the allure, and that is why you have no choice but to give in.”

Kurt trembled under the feather-light touch of the god. The chills on his back were offset by a rush of blood to his loins and his heart pumping blood so hard he could feel his pulse in several different body parts at once. His eyes rolled to the side, and he looked at Buddy, who was hunched over beside him, his hands tucked between his thighs, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Okay, fine, but Buddy doesn’t need to be here,” said Kurt. “This is already really weird. I don’t need to involve a dead guy on top of it.”

Anubis laughed, and used a single claw to cut through the front of his hospital shirt, exposing his bare chest. “Then perhaps he should have thought of that before he started knocking on the door,” said the God of the Dead. He grabbed Kurt by the throat and flung him across the room, back into the chair, where Kurt fell as the chair tumbled back onto the floor. Kurt scrambled over the chair to look back to the couch, and saw Anubis pinning Buddy Holly against the couch, shredding Buddy’s suit to ribbons with his claws and teeth, as Buddy whaled on Anubis’ head with his fists as he hollered and swore at the jackal-headed god. 

Kurt jumped to his feet and ran to Anubis, tackling the god from behind and struggling to climb up his back. Anubis reached behind him and grabbed a handful of Kurt’s shirt and flung him off again. Anubis grabbed Buddy’s ankle and dragged him like a rag doll behind him as he approached Kurt, who was lying on his back, struggling to get up. The God of Death tossed Buddy on top of Kurt so that he was lying on top of Kurt, chest to chest, his glasses askew on his face. The two of them looked at each other, bare chests heaving against one another before Buddy pushed himself up off of Kurt, only to be forced back down again as Anubis jammed the heel of his shoe into Buddy’s back. Buddy let out a terrified yelp as Anubis leaned onto him, resting his arm across his raised knee as he plucked his nearly-spent cigar from his mouth. He held it between his clawed fingers, pondering it for a moment, before he ground it into Buddy’s back as Buddy screamed in pain.

“That’s what you get for trying to play hero,” said Anubis as he loosened his leather belt. He crouched down over Buddy, grabbing the man’s wrists, and held them together as he wrapped his belt around them, binding his hands tight. He flipped Buddy over with the toe of his shoe, and unzipped his fly as he ran his long tongue along the length of his muzzle. “Indeed," he said, "a fine offering."

Anubis grabbed the top of Kurt’s head, and angled it up so that Kurt’s eyes were level with the God of Death’s crotch. The god worked his pants down just past his ass; he’d been going commando this whole time, and Kurt found himself staring in awe of the Egyptian God of Death’s porn star-sized cock and balls. It was like looking at a blackened roll of salami with foreskin. Kurt had the fleeting thought that Anubis could probably beat someone to death with it.

“I can’t… it won’t fit,” said Kurt.

“You’ll make it fit,” said Anubis, grabbing Kurt by the hair and shoving Kurt’s face into his dick. Kurt’s mouth wasn’t open, so instead the space alongside Kurt’s nose was just pressed up against Anubis’ penis, right into the heated flesh, so that Kurt could feel it throb against his cheek. “Open wide, and receive your holy sacrament,” Anubis commanded, and Kurt opened his mouth as Anubis shoved the head of his penis into Kurt’s mouth.

It was hard for Kurt to get his mouth around it, and it wasn’t even erect yet. Kurt’s experience in sucking cock was sparse, admittedly, but he’d had his own cock sucked enough times to know what worked. His cheeks went hollow as he slurped on the reddish-purple head, trying to work his tongue along the underside as best he could without removing it. Perhaps, he thought, if he did a good enough job, then the God of the Dead would just ignore Buddy altogether. As he thought this, Anubis pushed Kurt’s head forward onto his cock, driving it back into this throat. Kurt could feel the cock twitch as he gagged around it, and Anubis groaned in pleasure, holding Kurt in place for a few seconds before granting him the mercy of letting him pull his head back as Kurt coughed and sputtered as strings of drool dangled from the sides of his mouth. 

“Tip the scales in his favor,” said Anubis cryptically, as he pointed his now hardening cock towards Buddy. Kurt looked over to Buddy, who just looked defeated.

“Buddy, you don’t have to--” Kurt started between coughs, but Buddy held up his bound hands and cut him off.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said, “but it’s not like this ain’t something I haven’t had to do before.” He opened his hands and cradled Anubis’s cock with them as he brought it to his lips, kissing the tip of it with gentle reverence before running his tongue along the slit. Kurt’s jaw dropped as he watched. Buddy, despite having put up such a fight earlier, was now handling the jackal-headed god’s cock as though they were long-time lovers. Buddy worked his way into fitting Anubis’ cock into his mouth incrementally, and the god let out a low growl of approval.

“You see,” said Anubis, petting the curly hair atop Buddy’s head, “all who come to me in this corner of purgatory must pay their respects eventually, and someone who has been here as long as Charles here knows how to submit.”

“Don’t call me Charles,” Buddy said, letting Anubis’ cock fall out of his mouth just for a moment before he went back in on it.

“I’ll call you what I will,” said Anubis, now shoving Buddy deeper onto his cock. He threw back his head and moaned, his eyes lighting up into a shimmering gold color as though he were possessed. “Ohhhh, yes, the visions… they’re coming to me. Kurt, help out your dead friend. My shaft is feeling neglected, as are my testicles. Get to work.”

Buddy moved his hands out of the way so that Kurt could put his mouth to the length of Anubis’ cock, running his lips across it like a skin harmonica and licking it up and down. He cradled the god’s nuts, not really sure what to do with them aside from play with them in his hand like a pair of Baoding balls.

Anubis removed his cock from Buddy’s mouth with a wet pop before he speared it back into Kurt’s mouth, slowly pushing it as far back as it could fit as he held Kurt’s hair into pigtails. Kurt looked up as Anubis and saw his eyes were now luminous, like his skull had been turned into a Jack-O-lantern.

“And so it was that Atum created all of creation through masturbation to completion,” said Anubis, forcing Kurt to choke on his cock. “Pharaohs would pay tribute to his creation by masturbating beside the Nile river, ejaculating into it, and watching their semen flow downstream. How fitting, then, that the tiniest particle of matter be called the atom, and to split it causes death and destruction.” Kurt breathed heavily through his nose as the head of Anubis’ cock started to dip down into his esophagus, unable to go any further, though Kurt’s mouth was still a scant inch from the base. Anubis pulled his hips back until just the head of his cock was still inside Kurt’s mouth, and began to fuck it with violent fervor, and Kurt could only let out a series of garbled gasps and moans. Even with Anubis rambling as he was, Kurt had still gone rock hard, and he reached a hand down to his groin to squeeze it.

“Take off your clothes,” commanded Anubis, taking his engorged, throbbing cock out of Kurt’s mouth once more, eliciting another gasp from Kurt.

Kurt obeyed, slipping out of his split shirt and wriggling out of the hospital pants and his underwear so that he was completely naked, and his growing erection was now freed from its cotton confines. Anubis let out a satisfied hum, and pointed to Buddy with his cock. “Now, strip him too.”

There didn’t seem to be much of a point in taking off Buddy’s clothes, as they were hanging off of him in tatters around his trembling frame. Kurt crawled over Buddy, and started undoing his belt. “Sorry about this,” Kurt mumbled.

“You do what you gotta do,” Buddy sighed, the fight having gone completely out of him. Kurt slipped Buddy’s belt off and cast it aside, and carefully, nervously, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. A part of him was unsure what to expect, with just how weird everything else was regarding their current situation, but when he pulled down Buddy’s pants, there was, unsurprisingly, a penis. A ghost’s penis, Kurt reminded himself. Compared to the fucking Goliath dong that Anubis was packing, it somehow appeared quaint, almost timid, as it began to rouse from its flaccid state. Kurt gave it a tentative stroke, and Buddy let out a low, clipped gasp as Kurt’s fingers made contact with the sensitive skin.

But Kurt didn’t have time to have any sort of foreplay with Buddy, as Anubis shoved Kurt against Buddy again, pinning them both down, stomach-to-stomach, cock rubbing against cock. “Good, good,” said Anubis. “Now, kiss.”

Buddy positioned his arms so that they were around Kurt’s narrow shoulders, pulling him in closer, resting his bound wrists between Kurt’s shoulder blades, pulling him in tighter towards him. It was Kurt that touched Buddy’s lips first; Buddy wasn’t the first rock star that he’d kissed, nor would he be the last, though Kurt tried to put it out of his mind that Buddy was definitely the first dead dude that he’d kissed. Buddy opened his mouth just a bit, running his tongue across his lips, touching Kurt’s lips as he did so, and Kurt felt another surge of heat rush to his already yearning cock. This was about as far as he’d ever really gotten with Krist, being naked and drunk and just feverishly rubbing their cocks together as they made out. They’d only managed to do that once on a tour bus, shortly before he started dating Courtney. Now he was in the same position Krist had been in, on top of another man, his tongue in Buddy’s mouth and his cock slippery with sweat as it rubbed up against Buddy’s.

And then Anubis, who had taken the time to strip himself completely nude, knelt down in front of Kurt’s ass and stuck his cold, wet dog nose into Kurt’s taint, which made Kurt squeak in surprise. The God of Death placed his hands on Kurt’s ass, and with his thumbs, parted Kurt’s cheeks like Moses parting the Red Sea, only instead of a crowd of Hebrews coming through, it was a long, flexible, muscular tongue that slithered down the middle, and pressed right up against Kurt’s asshole. Kurt let out a low, breathy moan into Buddy’s mouth as his entire body seized from the sensation. Anubis’s tongue wriggled its way past Kurt’s sphincter, feeling nothing like the occasional finger in the ass Kurt might slip in while masturbating; it went in farther, bit by bit, lapping along the walls of his ass until it went back so far that it tickled his prostate. Kurt bucked his hips against Buddy, pulling away from their kiss to toss his head back and let out a guttural howl. 

Anubis pulled his tongue out of Kurt’s ass, his mouth watering, drool slavering onto Kurt’s backside. “Perfect,” he said, getting onto his knees as he held tight onto Kurt’s ass. “And now, it is time for you to receive my most precious gift to you.” He lined up the tip of his cock with Kurt’s asshole, and Kurt felt the soft flesh start to press into his yielding hole. He buried his head into the crook of Buddy’s neck, and braced himself, holding his breath as Buddy held him close, and Anubis’ cock head slowly pushed its way inside, splitting Kurt wide. He let out a bellow into Buddy’s chest, trying to muffle his cries as the cock of Anubis continued to plow its way forward, deeper and deeper, lubricated only by the god’s saliva. Anubis’ glowing eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy as Kurt’s ass tightened around his girth, and he finally buried the entire length of his godhood into Kurt’s ass. 

“It’s okay,” Buddy whispered into Kurt’s ear, as Kurt grunted from the strain. “You can handle this. It’s always hard the first time.”

“Shhhhhhut the fuck up,” Kurt snarled through gritted teeth, as Anubis gave a few shallow thrusts into his ass, as the god’s balls tapped against his own. “Fuck, he’s gonna rip me in half.”

“Cease your incessant whining,” snapped Anubis, pulling back again until only the head of his penis was still inside of Kurt, only to slam back in at full force with a slap on Kurt’s ass. Kurt screamed again, and without even thinking, bit into Buddy’s shoulder just to have something to gnash his teeth against, and Buddy yelped like a kicked dog. He tried to shake Kurt off, but Anubis pushed down on the both of them harder as he fucked Kurt harder. “Ohhh, that’s much better,” said Anubis, his eyes glowing brighter. “Oh, but I am achieving clarity! I can see! I can see!”

“Ah, hell,” Buddy hissed, “not this again.”

Kurt barely had time to process what was happening before Anubis was fucking him like a machine, moving with the mechanical ferocity of pumping pistons, as he let out a low sound from his throat, and began to speak as though he were tuning into the frequencies of a cosmic radio station.

“Ahhhh, a national hero falls in a splatter of blood and a car chase… February 19th, 1995… the scale will be balanced. A sacrificial lamb slain on the altar of the 27 Club, retreating, retreating, further into the self… the digital realm offers sanctuary, sanctuary from blown-out office buildings, the digital realm opens possibilities, as does the peyote button on the farm of a burnt-out junkie, Fear and Loathing in Fat City… slay the princess and watch the wicked saint wither, two men once friends meet their ends at the barrels of guns… a copied animal, a nation rapt in a soap opera, mail-bombs for peace, teenage murder fantasies broadcast live on 24 hour cable for all the world to see, the digital bubble bursts, panic, panic! … Burning bush, burning bush, burns before the mask of an empire crumbles into smoke and fire as the eyes of every man, woman and child can only behold the horror, the horror…”

As Anubis continued to spew gibberish, he increased the pace, hitting Kurt’s prostate with each thrust, no, _smashing_ into it. Kurt started seeing sickly yellow, the kind of yellow only able to be seen by optical illusion. Kurt clung to Buddy, and groaned into his ear as he felt so full that he thought he might explode at any second. Buddy nudged Kurt’s head with his own. “It’ll be over soon,” he whispered. He then winced, as Anubis shoved middle and ring fingers right up Buddy’s ass, and immediately Buddy started to squirm and writhe, panting like a slut.

“NEVER FORGET, SUPPORT OUR TROOPS, CONTINUE SHOPPING, TERROR THREAT LEVEL ORANGE, SHOCK AND AWE, SHOCK AND AWE, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, THERE ARE KNOWN UNKNOWNS, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!” Anubis’ mouth wasn’t even moving anymore; his head was tilted back and his mouth was wide open, as though it was some sort of speaker working across space and time, the volume increasing with each thrust. “FAILURE, FAILURE, CONSTANT INSTITUTIONAL FAILURE, AGAIN AND AGAIN, HOPE AND CHANGE, CHANGE AND HOPE, MORE OF THE SAME, THE SAME, TOO BIG TO FAIL, MAD MONEY, MAD MONEY, OCCUPY WALL STREET! WE’VE ABANDONED AN ENTIRE GENERATION AND IT’S ALL THEIR FAULT! 2016, THE WORST YEAR OF ALL TIME BEFORE EVERY OTHER YEAR BEFORE AND AFTER! BY GOD, CAN THEY MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN? IT’S HER TURN, SHE DESERVES IT! DON'T FORGET TO WEAR A MASK! _BY GOD, MAN, DO YOU EVEN LISTEN TO DEATH GRIPS?_ AUGH!”

A thousand screaming voices erupted from Anubis’ throat as he gripped Kurt’s ass, drilling in deep, deep, _deep_ until he came, absolutely filling Kurt’s ass with a cascade of divine semen, and Kurt’s vision went completely yellow as he heard a thousand songs all at once, not one of them he’d ever heard before that moment, with only one notable exception; that Japanese pop artist’s song “Plastic Love” off of that tape that Krist had picked up at the record store, some random import picked up by chance. A million sets of drums beat together, each to their own rhythm, basses dropped, distorted singing filled his ears as Kurt squeezed Buddy so tightly that he thought he might crush him to pieces as he came onto Buddy’s stomach. He twitched and shuddered, letting out a final moan before his body went completely limp from exhaustion.

Anubis pulled out his cock from Kurt’s ass, still spurting out ropes of pearly cum as he did. And with one last slap of Kurt’s ass, Kurt found his eyes popping open as he twitched and jerked in his bed, in his room in the mental patient wing, coming hard in his pants, harder than he’d ever come before. Kurt gasped as his semen just gushed out of him, so hard that a wet spot was forming on the sheet above his crotch. He thrust his crotch in the air, riding it out, finally thinking to cover his mouth as he did, and finally, his penis gave one last spurt before coming to rest.

Kurt lay there, hand still over his mouth, stunned by what he just experienced. His first instinct was to immediately clean himself up, but instead he pawed for his notebook in the dark, and in the dim light, he flipped to an empty page and started writing down everything he could remember, including the stream-of-consciousness nonsense Anubis had spouted while balls deep in his ass. Having written down everything he could remember, he tossed his notebook aside, removed his pants and underwear, and found a spare set of boxer briefs that his mother had brought him He tossed aside his soiled pants and underwear into a corner, and sleepily crawled back into bed, scooting past the wet spot on the sheets that was about the size of a nickel. With the events of the dream having been written down, he found it easier to drift back into sleep.

~

The next morning, when Kurt had been awoken by one of the nurses, he checked his notebook and read back what he wrote. He’d been writing in the dark, so the letters were sloppier than usual, but he was able to make it out.

_ Last night dreamt I got fucked by Anubis with Buddy Holly. Anubis way too much like Dr. Wallace. His cock was massive. Buddy Holly sucks cock like a champion, really considerate lover. Got fucked and given visions of the future? Feb 19th, 1995, scales will balance? Peyote and Fear and Loathing. Hunter S. Thompson? Bombs, terrorism. America falls on live TV. Internet, lots of internet. A bunch of slogans, support our troops, war propaganda? 2016 bad. BY GOD, DO YOU EVEN LISTEN TO DEATH GRIPS? Plastic Love, a million other songs not written yet at once as I came. Never came so hard in my life. _

Kurt read and re-read what he wrote. It looked like complete nonsense, and his memory of his dream had gone fuzzy, aside from the whole getting-fucked-by -on-top-of-Buddy-Holly thing. That remained pretty clear.

After breakfast, Kurt would attend group therapy again for the first time since the incident from the other night. Kurt sat slumped over in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, looking worn out.

“Good morning, everyone, and thank you all once again for joining us,” said Dr. Singh, still maintaining his usual chipper demeanor. “I realize that much has happened over the past two days, and it’s no secret that our friend Kurt has been at the center of it.”

All eyes turned to Kurt, who remained unfazed.

“Kurt,” said Dr. Singh, “I realize you have been through a very traumatic experience, so it is alright if there’s nothing you wish to say about it. But, if you would like to speak about it, the floor is all yours.”

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose, using his thumb and forefinger to dig out any remaining sleep left in his eye. “Everybody already knows what happened,” said Kurt, “so I don’t need to get into that… but there are two things I wanna say.”

“Go ahead,” said Dr. Singh, giving Kurt an encouraging nod.

“The first thing,” said Kurt, “is that I’m going to pay for cochlear implants for Valerie.”

Valerie beamed as he said this, wiggling in her chair in excitement and signing to both her interpreter and Odette. Odette clasped her hands together and shook them forward towards Odette twice.

“And the second,” said Kurt, now reclining back in his seat, “was that last night I had a dream that I got force-fucked by the Egyptian God Anubis alongside Buddy Holly and Anubis showed me the future… and it was the hottest thing I've every experienced in my life.”

The room went quiet, and many of the patients exchanged confused glances. Ned attempted to start a slow, congratulatory clap, but nobody else was joining in, so he stopped.

“Kurt,” said Dr. Singh, with obvious concern, “do you think this dream might be related to the trauma you experienced?”

“Yeah, probably,” said Kurt. “But that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Ned cast another glance around the room. “Shame Billy’s not here, right?” he said. “I’m sure he’d be plenty interested in you having a sex dream with an animal-headed person, right?”

Again, nobody responded at first. Kurt cleared his throat.

“Do you have like, a _ thing _ for Buddy Holly?” asked Maxine.

“I guess I do now,” said Kurt with a shrug. “Weird how that worked out, huh?”

“Yes, hmm, right,” said Dr. Singh. “That is very interesting, Kurt. If you wish, we can discuss this more in private.”

“Sure,” said Kurt.

For the entire rest of the session, Kurt didn’t say a word, though multiple people gave him the occasional odd or concerned look, aside from Valerie, who was still brimming with joy, waving at him when she got bored of listening to Stephan go on about his holy visions or Ned complain about his drug problems, and Kurt would always smile back at her.


	18. Your Only Hope for a Future

The next few days were pretty mellow, considering the incident that preceded them. Courtney was coming in almost every day, usually with cigarettes, allowing the two of them to stand outside together and smoke. _ Live Through This _ was selling extremely well, which was a source of pride for Courtney, and she bragged about it to Kurt, who was mostly just glad to see her in a good mood. What became increasingly and frustratingly common, however, was that good mood souring when discussing Kurt’s own life. He’d made the mistake of telling Courtney about the dream with Anubis and Buddy Holly, which only earned frustration and concern from Courtney.

“I swear to God, Kurt, I don’t need another relationship with a guy to end with him turning gay,” Courtney had said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“It’s not turning gay, I’ve been like this the whole time.” said Kurt. “I’m only half-gay.”

“Yeah, okay, but what does that mean for me that the ‘hottest dream you’ve ever had’ involves you getting fucked by an Egyptian god that starts spouting off shit that sounds like that guy that went on about the world being run by a gangster computer god as he comes?”

Kurt paused a moment. “Are you feeling inadequate compared to a dude with a dog head and a ghost?”

“Maybe!” exclaimed Courtney in exasperation. “I don’t know! I don’t know why you’d tell me something like that, especially after what happened to you!”

“I don’t know either,” said Kurt. “I’m just trying to figure it out myself.”

There were multiple times they were alone that their conversations would turn heated when Kurt tried to bring up his issues. It seemed the only real consistently good things Kurt could bring up was that he was clean, he hadn’t had any major stomach pain since his initial 72 hour hold, and that he didn’t feel suicidal. Courtney would end up talking to Dr. Singh one-on-one twice, though Kurt wasn’t privy to their conversations, but there was still an element of tension. It was hard not to notice the other patients seeing Courtney walk in and giving her a wide berth as soon as she and Kurt were together. The one exception to this, however, was the one day that Courtney had brought along both Frances and Kurt’s mother along to visit. Courtney’s initial reaction was to be wary of all these strangers surrounding her baby, but Wendy Cobain paraded Frances around in front of everyone, proud to show her off to everyone there, even letting Deandra hold her as she took photos with a disposable camera. Kurt was just glad to see Frances again, and spent most of the visit coloring with her, playing with her on his bed with the big, stuffed Snoopy he still had, and allowing himself to be led around the halls by her, guided as she grabbed hold of his fingers in her tiny hand. She would point at people and things, and attempt to form words, and Kurt would kneel down beside her, asking her questions like “what is that?” and “who’s that over there?” Towards the end of that visit, as Dr. Singh charmed Kurt’s mother effortlessly, the doctor would ask to hold Frances himself, only for Frances to try and remove his turban from his head. Kurt’s mother pulled her back in apologetic embarrassment, which just roused laughter from Dr. Singh. And though Kurt felt a twinge of sadness in his chest as he had to wave good-bye to his daughter again, he did find himself more determined to return to some baseline of normal so that he could go back home.

It was during another one of Courtney’s visits, that Kurt would see another familiar, yet unexpected face. Shortly after Courtney had arrived, and they were on their way to step outside for a smoke, Kurt heard a commotion coming from the common area, and multiple people cry out a familiar name. “Billy!”

Kurt turned immediately to go back to the common room to see Billy, having been greeted by most of the other regulars in group therapy. Billy had been looking around the room and, having spotted Kurt, waved at him. “Hey!” he said. “Kurt! Hey!”

“Oh shit,” said Kurt, as he approached the small circle surrounding Billy. “What brings you back here?”

“You’re not checking back in, are ya?” asked Raven.

“Nope,” said Billy. “I’m in out-patient treatment now so I don’t have to stay here under observation.”

“So you’ve gotten out, then,” said Kurt. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” said Billy. He looked around him at the others. “Actually… I wanted to talk to you real quick. I’m not gonna be here long.”

“Sure,” said Kurt. He laid his arm across Billy’s back and guided him over to a more secluded area, though it was in Courtney’s direction. “Oh, by the way, this is my better half, Courtney.”

“Hi,” said Billy awkwardly.

“Courtney, this is Billy,” said Kurt. “He’s, uh, he’s the guy who talked me into busting him out along side his brother.”

“Oh,” said Courtney. “Hello, Billy.” She uncrossed her arms and gave Billy a brief wave.

“Hello,” said Billy. “Kurt told everybody a lot about you.”

“Yeah?” asked Courtney.

“Yeah,” said Billy nodding. “He cares about you a lot.”

“Thank you,” said Courtney, offering a half-sarcastic smile.

“Kurt,” said Billy, “I wanted to apologize for leaving you in the room that night. I panicked and I went after Bobby because I was afraid he might hurt himself or somebody else. I heard about what happened to you and I feel like it’s my fault.” Billy bowed his head shamefully, twiddling his fingers. “So I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Listen, Billy,” said Kurt, steering him back away from Courtney, who was now rapt in attention, “it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have gone down there in the first place, and it’s not like you had any idea what was going to happen.”

“I thought they might have given you the electroshock,” Billy admitted. “I thought that was gonna happen to you and I still left you because I went after Bobby.”

“Electroshock wouldn’t have been nearly as bad,” said Kurt.

“Yeah, but what happened was worse and… and...” Billy covered his face with his hands, and ran them down his features, letting out a defeated groan. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I only asked you because I thought we were friends.”

“We’re still friends,” said Kurt, though Courtney recoiled at that statement. “I don’t blame you at all, okay? I blame myself and I blame Dr. Wallace.”

“You’re not mad at me?” asked Billy.

Kurt hesitated. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of pissed off,” he said, “but I understand why you did it. You were scared. You panicked, like you said, and you wanted to protect your brother, so no, I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. I forgive you.” Kurt tilted his head as Billy just nodded forcefully, like a child trying to get a lecture over with. “How is Bobby?”

“He’s in another facility,” said Billy. “This one is supposed to be better with handling severe autism, but he gets to come home twice a week.”

“That’s definitely better than what he was going through before,” said Kurt.

“Yeah,” said Billy, “but I’m worried. The police suspected that you weren’t the only person that Dr. Wallace tried to molest like he did. My grandma is worried he might have tried that on Bobby. She’s already been talking to a lawyer and the families of some of the other patients. They want to sue the hospital, for a lot of things. The downstairs patients weren’t treated so good and Dr. Wallace is… not responding to anybody.”

“Have you heard anything about him?”

“No,” said Billy, shaking his head. “But I hate him. He might have molested my brother. But we don’t know. Bobby can’t really talk enough to say what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Billy,” said Kurt.

“It’s okay,” Billy mumbled. “Maybe… maybe he never did any of that with Billy. We don’t know yet.”

“He better not have,” said Kurt. “I hope he fucking dies. I hope somebody fucking mistreats him the same way he mistreated us and fucking kills him.” Kurt turned his head slightly and noticed that, not far from where they were standing, was Valerie, whose eyes were focused on Kurt’s face.

“What the fuck is the deaf girl doing staring at you?” Courtney asked.

Valerie noticed them all looking back to her, and scurried away, hiding her face as she held her head down.

“She’s eavesdropping,” said Billy. “She does that.”

“How the fuck do you eavesdrop when you can’t hear?” Courtney asked.

“She’s good at lip reading,” said Kurt.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Courtney. “But yeah, I’ve been trying to tell Kurt that this happening feels like a failure on an institutional level and I don’t know why he insists on staying here.”

Kurt didn’t say anything to Courtney, he just crossed his arms and looked at his feet before speaking to Billy. “Mostly, I just don’t want it being spread around about what happened to me. I don’t think it’s other people’s business and if that means that I have to keep acting like shit is normal for a while, then I will.”

Billy brought a finger to his chin, and pondered this for a moment. “I can kind of understand that,” he said, “but I also think you would probably feel better if Dr. Wallace was punished.”

“Maybe he already has been,” said Kurt. “If he’s not faking being catatonic, anyway.”

Billy’s eyes went wide. “You think he’s faking it?”

“Just a rumor I’ve heard,” said Kurt. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” said Billy, reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, and pulling out a sheet of paper, “I wanted to give this to you, since I probably won’t see you again once you’re back to being a rock star and all.”

Kurt was about to object to Billy’s assertion that they would likely never see each other again before he unfolded the sheet of paper to see a Tiny Toons-esque drawing of a cartoon cat with scraggly blond hair, wearing a sweater and ripped jeans, playing a guitar left-handed. “Wait,” said Kurt, “is this… supposed to be me?”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “I think it works, you said cats are your favorite animals along with turtles, but drawing you as a cat seemed to fit better. You’re kind of cat-like, you know?”

“I guess so?” said Kurt, smiling.

Courtney came over to look over Kurt’s shoulder at the drawings. “Oh yeah,” she said, “you’re the guy who drew that cat with tits for Kurt.”

“I kinda prefer this style,” said Kurt. “How you made it shorter and not as much like a human. Like a Looney Tune.”

“Thanks,” said Billy. “I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do,” said Kurt. “Thank you. And let me know if you ever need anything.”

“Oh?” asked Billy, blinking in disbelief.

“Yeah,” said Kurt. “You got a pen?”

“Oh!” Billy reached into his pocket and handed Kurt a pen and a notepad. “I got paper too,” he said.

Kurt took the pen in hand and flipped the notebook to a blank page, and wrote down a phone number. He handed it back to Billy. “This is our manager’s number,” said Kurt. “You call and you tell them that you were in the hospital with me, give him your name. I’ll call you back.”

“Oh, wow!” said Billy, eyes going wide as Courtney looked on in alarm. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” said Kurt. “Good luck, man.”

Billy grinned, and held up a hand in the air, inviting a high-five, something that Kurt had never seen Billy do, but Kurt raised his own hand and clapped it in mid-air. Billy then quickly transitioned into pointing at Kurt and Courtney with finger guns. “Stay cool,” he said, trying to sound as smooth as possible as he bobbed his head.

“Will do,” said Kurt. Billy went back to the group, who had gone back to talking to themselves, but welcomed him back into the fold. Kurt turned around to look at Courtney, who was covering half her face with one hand.

“Did you really need to give him a way to contact you?” asked Courtney.

Kurt shrugged. “It’s not like I gave him our personal number.”

“He’s weird,” said Courtney.

“And so are you,” said Kurt. “And so am I, really. I thought that was why we got along.”

“I’m still kind of upset that he was the one that talked you into going to the lower level,” said Courtney. “C’mon, let’s go outside.” She took hold of Kurt’s hand and led him outside for a smoke, and another new argument.

And as April drew to a close, creeping into May, Deandra gracefully made her exit from the program, giving just about everyone in the therapy group a kiss on the cheek and a hug (including Ned), as her items were gathered in plastic bags at her feet, and she held a bouquet of flowers given to her by a man who’d come to take her home. When she had gotten to Kurt, she wrapped her arms around him, nearly lifting him off the ground. “Oh, Scarecrow, I’ll miss you most of all,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“I’ll miss you too, Dee,” he said. “Listen, if you ever want to keep in touch--”

“Kurt,” she said, “I assure you, we will meet again someday. You don’t have to give me your number. I’m not leaving this city. You know where to find me.” She gave Kurt a slip of paper with her number on it. “Just in case.”

Kurt hugged her back, nearly standing on his tip-toes, and felt a poignant mix of melancholia and joy as he watched her go, moving like a beauty pageant queen, almost floating her way out. With her exit, that was two members of the original therapy group that were gone, and all of the new patients on the floor were older.

“And so our little group gets whittled down again,” said Maxine. “Wonder if anybody closer to our age will come in any time soon.”

“Since when have you been so eager for fresh faces?” asked Ned. “You don’t even like old faces.”

“Shut up, Ned,” said Maxine. “You know what I mean.”

The date was April 30th. Kurt found himself convinced with the beginning of May, he’d be on the last leg of his stay, and perhaps it would have been.

But it wouldn’t be.

~

It was dark. Kurt was sitting in a chair, watching a scene play out in front of him. There was a hospital bed in front of him, and lying on that bed was Dr. Wallace, eyes open, very still, and all Kurt could do was just glare at him.

The two of them stayed in those same positions for what might have been hours, until a figure from the side approached Dr. Wallace. He watched the doctor’s eyes, and then his head, roll over towards the figure, then snapped back.

“Good to see you,” said Dr. Wallace, softly, staring straight ahead. “How are things?”

“Alright,” said the figure. Kurt recognized the voice immediately; it was Randy. “One of the retards is gonna sue the hospital over what happened.”

“I’m sure they are,” said Dr. Wallace, barely moving. “No doubt it’ll be settled out of court.”

“So how much longer are you gonna keep this up?” asked Randy. “You can’t do this forever.”

“Try me,” said Dr. Wallace. “They can’t convict a vegetable.”

“And what about me?” asked Randy. “I got a camera with a bunch of photos on it that can’t ever see the light of day without it being traced back to you.”

“Are the police still looking for it?”

“I haven’t heard back from them in over a week. Cobain’s a fucking loony, so I don’t even think they totally believe him about it. His wife is even crazier. They just fight whenever she comes over, she starts flipping out at him about him seeing ghosts--”

“Don’t,” said Dr. Wallace, his lips shuddering as he spoke, “mention ghosts to me.”

“You’re still not on that shit, are you?”

“I only know what I saw,” said Dr. Wallace, “and what I saw… appeared to be some sort of supernatural phenomenon.” The doctor rolled his head to the side and looked at Randy, as though imploring for validation. “Do you think he may be connected to that? Is he responsible for… whatever that was?”

“Doc, you’re sounding just as nutty as he is,” said Randy.

“I have no history of hallucinations,” said Dr. Wallace. “I’m quite healthy, mentally and physically. I see no reason why I could have had a psychotic episode at that particular moment. That… _ thing _ was not the result of internal turmoil. It felt invasive. It was coming from outside of me.”

“How do you know it wasn’t internal?” asked Randy. “Maybe you did feel bad.”

“Nonsense. I felt no such thing until I saw those… _ apparitions. _”

“So do you feel bad now?”

Dr. Wallace’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t go to prison,” he said. “Can I really be blamed for having to suppress my impulses, to have to act out on them in secret? I’m stuck in a loveless marriage with children who will never amount to anything in life. I have never been able to be open about my sexuality, so naturally, I would express it in… _ unhealthy _ ways.”

“Yeah, yeah, poor you,” said Randy dismissively. “Poor, delicate, little flower like you can’t last in the hoosegow. Don’t come at me with that shit.”

“I’m a respected man in my community and I won’t suffer the humiliation of being dragged out in front of the public for a few indiscretions. Not all of us were once hoodlums who could fit into such an environment.”

“Yeah, like I’m supposed to bow down to you for looking over that and giving me a job in a nuthouse,” Randy sneered. “Now look at you. You’re a fucking coward. Can’t even face what you did so you gotta shift blame to everybody else. You’re not gonna have people protecting you forever, and when somebody exposes you to the cops, your face is gonna be on the news for diddling crazies and retards.”

“You’re not going to go to the police… are you, Randall?” Dr. Wallace asked.

“I might,” said Randy, “unless you can give me a good reason not to.”

“Aside from you keeping evidence from the police on my behalf?” There was a glint in Dr. Wallace’s eye. “Have you developed those pictures, Randall? I wish I could have done so. I have many such photographs in a safety deposit box, you know. Many… many photographs, of many beautiful subjects.”

“You trying to bribe me with photos to jerk off to?”

“And more,” said Dr. Wallace. “The key is in my home, in my desk. The center drawer has an antique cigar box. The key is in there, as well as the number. I think you will find that there are a good deal of more valuable items there than just those photographs...”

Randy turned his head, and tapped twice on the bed rail. Dr. Wallace went slack-jawed and glossy-eyed again. In fact, during the entire conversation, the doctor has barely moved at all, his head and body remaining completely still, and the only emotion he displayed was solely through his eyes and his voice. Kurt wondered if that was part of the act, or if he was somehow rendered incapable of moving by whatever it was that happened to him the night of the incident.

“I gotta go,” Randy muttered. “Have a nice life, I guess.”

“Don’t leave me,” Dr. Wallace groaned, as Randy’s silhouette melted back into the darkness. He finally raised an arm to reach out to him, and let it hang in midair before it fell onto the bed. His eyes were locked on the direction in which Randy had left, looking like the pathetic old man he was, and he stayed that way for an uncomfortably long time. Kurt wanted more than anything to get up from his seat and start kicking the shit out of him, but even if Kurt was able to move from his seat, he wasn’t even sure if it was worth the trouble. He felt overwhelmed with a visceral disgust, as though there were maggots squirming their way out from under his skin. The man who had loomed over him, so powerful and controlling, was now pathetic and impotent. He wouldn’t even be worth the effort to spit on.

A large, meaty hand rested upon Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt could finally move enough to swivel his head upwards to see The Big Bopper standing over him. The Bopper looked down at Kurt and gave him a warm, comforting smile.

“Don’t you worry 'bout a thing,” he said, his baritone voice vibrating at a frequency that rattled away all the tension riled up in Kurt’s shoulders and spine. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“It is?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah,” said the Big Bopper, giving Kurt’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’ve got friends in high places.” Just as the Bopper said this, Kurt saw another, taller figure walk past him with an unmistakable profile, with a long, pointed snout and tall ears sticking up straight. As the God of the Dead moved past the Big Bopper, he looked down to Kurt, his eyes glowing gold, and he flashed him a toothy grin.

And then Kurt woke up.

His eyes popped open, and he stayed lying on his side in the dark. His eyeballs darted across the dark room as he took in his surroundings, the same room he’d slept in for over three weeks. He heard the sound of footsteps and lifted his head just enough to see the shadows of someone walking down the hallway bleed through the bottom crack of the door, approaching from the side of the rec area and the entrance. He could hear a door open and shut, and then silence.

Kurt blinked a few times, and nestled his head back into the pillow. He was finding himself finding it hard to go back to sleep; all he could think about was whether or not what he’d just been dreaming was some sort of temporal glimpse into Dr. Wallace’s own hospital room, or if it was merely an invention of his frenzied brain. The uncertainty of such a prospect pressed onto him heavily, and he felt like the woman in that old painting called _ The Nightmare, _ her arms sprawled out in distress as an ugly, gargoyle-looking creature sat on her chest, looking out at the viewer. He hooked one arm over the pillow behind his head, letting it stay there as he tried to close his eyes again and fall back to sleep.

He did eventually do just that, as when he opened his eyes again it was morning, though he wasn’t awakened by a nurse as usual; instead, he was roused by the sounds of people talking. Kurt shuffled out of bed and towards the door, where many other patients were milling around, talking among each other in confusion. Kurt looked over to see Raven standing close by, looking confused.

“The hell is going on?” Kurt asked.

“A new guy came in and Stephan seems to be going on about… something,” said Raven with a shrug. Kurt looked back towards the entrance, and Stephan stepped into view, the nurse who was usually attendant to him nowhere to be seen, and his arms raised above his head.

“THE DEMON HAS BEEN SLAIN!” he shouted, spinning around to address anyone and everyone within earshot. “THE ANGEL OF JUSTICE HAS STRUCK HIM DOWN WITH HIS FIERY SWORD AND THE BEAST IS DEAD!” His nurse finally stepped into view, trying to calm him down, but Stephan was too fired up. He looked down the hall and noticed Kurt, and pointed to him. “YOU!”

Stephan rushed down the hallway, his arms reaching out to Kurt, shaking his hands like an old Italian grandmother as Kurt stood rooted to the spot. Gently, Stephan laid his hands on Kurt’s shoulders. “God has righted the wrong done against you,” he said, staring into Kurt’s eyes with the rapturous intensity of a street preacher. “But you cannot rest easy yet; not until you give yourself fully to Jesus Christ.”

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asked.

“Dr. Eugene Wallace is dead!” cried Stephan, trembling with excitement. “Rejoice! Rejoice!”

“He’s dead?” Kurt asked in a small voice. His mind was reeling. After all that he’d seen in his dreams last night… well, it had to have been a coincidence, or maybe Stephan was lying, right?

“Yes!” said Stephan, who released Kurt as his dutiful nurse delicately pulled him back away from Kurt. “Oh, I know it’s not becoming to celebrate someone’s death, but for a demon wearing human skin such as that so-called doctor, is it not appropriate? Is it not fitting to see such a foul creature return to the crucible from which it was birthed?”

Kurt found himself feeling woozy. Not because of any sympathy he had for Dr. Wallace; if he hadn’t had that dream last night, he’d probably take some solace in the doctor’s passing. But this was tearing down the very foundation of what he thought was reality. He’d been able to handle the weird dreams of ghosts and gods simply by chalking them up to being concoctions of his own subconscious, but now… this had very real ramifications on the physical world, outside of his own head. This left Kurt with two equally troubling possibilities: that the dreams were, in fact, real and that the premonitions he’d experienced were accurate, or that he was losing his mind and getting worse. The hallway seemed to warp and spin around him, sounds getting louder and more distorted, faces blurring into each other as Kurt’s knees wobbled and buckled and finally gave out from underneath him, and he fainted.

When Kurt came to, he was surrounded by orderlies. Charlie was the one closest to him, but Kurt caught a glimpse of Randy, and recoiled with his entire body as he tried to get away from him. “You stay away from me!” he shouted, pointing at Randy. “You don’t come near me ever again!”

Randy threw up his hands and backed away, blowing out air through pursed lips. Charlie lifted Kurt to his feet, and patted him on the back. “You okay?” he asked.

“I… I don’t feel so good,” said Kurt.

“You need to lie down?” asked Charlie. “Do you need to be transferred to the ER?”

“I think… I think I need to talk to Dr. Singh,” said Kurt. “I think I’m losing my mind. I think I’m going fucking crazy--” He doubled over as he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach. The pain had come back, after nearly a month of waiting, to attack his guts at the worst possible time.

“Grab a stretcher, we need to get him to the ER!” Charlie shouted, and propped Kurt against the wall as Kurt slid back to the ground. “Where does it hurt?”

“Stomach...” Kurt said through gritted teeth. “Happens a lot… real bad this time...”

“This happens a lot?”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, nodding.

“Okay, okay,” said Charlie. He waved forward a bunch of nurses wheeling over a stretcher, and Charlie and another orderly lifted Kurt onto it. Kurt rested his hands on his stomach, and as he was wheeled out, he noticed an unfamiliar face; a young, dark-skinned man with dreadlocks, and piercing eyes that seemed to light up as they made passing contact with Kurt’s. Was that the new guy? Kurt didn’t have much time to ponder this before he was whisked away, back to the main building of the hospital, all the way to the emergency room. Throughout the entire trip, he clutched his stomach and gritted his teeth, holding on for some kind of reprieve from the agony and the madness tormenting him in tandem.


End file.
